


For Him, For Me

by vtforpedro



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Healer Bilbo Baggins, History Has Been Changed, M/M, Magical Bilbo Baggins, Temporary Character Death, Thorin is a Softie, Timeline What Timeline, lore what lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-18 23:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9407522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtforpedro/pseuds/vtforpedro
Summary: Bilbo Baggins is a Child of Yavanna. He has blood and knowledge of old. After Ages traveling and protecting Middle Earth, he settles back down in his roots - until a wizard comes along, that is.





	1. Chapter 1

The cold bit into his skin, his clothing no longer acting as the barrier it should have been. Wind tore through every fold and washed over his skin, bringing gooseflesh to the surface and causing violent shudders to wrack through him. His insides churned and bile reached the back of his throat but he could not retch; he was too frozen for it. Stiff clothing was curled tightly in his hands but the body beneath him was warm still, though the light from it had just faded with one soft, last breath.

He looked toward the breaking grey skies and felt the tears leaving his eyes grow frosty on his cheeks. “Please,” he begged, his voice so choked the word barely came out more than a rasp. _“Please._ Please, give him back. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Please.” He dropped his head forward as a sob escaped him, pressing his cheek to Thorin’s chest, still gripping his blood-stained tunic in his hands. He whimpered further pleas against the material, smelling iron and smoke when he inhaled sharply to draw air into his lungs. It hurt to breathe.

“It can’t be like this,” he whispered, lifting his head again and looking toward the sky. “It can’t. You know it can’t. He’s waited so, so long and- we _did_ it, it was done, he deserves to see it. Please, please let him have it; don’t take him from them.” The distant sounds of battle continued to rage on and it was surreal to watch a sky turning blue, birds fluttering overhead, their song a mockery.

Bilbo sniffed, looking down at Thorin’s face, his lips already turning blue, and another cry left his throat. “You _know_ this is wrong!” he shouted, standing and looking toward the sky once more. “It wasn’t his time yet! It’s _not_ his time yet! If any of us, it should be me-”

He cut himself off and felt a small bit of hope light in his chest with the realization. “It should be me,” he whispered, lifting his hand to cup his mouth, clamping his eyes shut tight. He took in a deep breath and let it out, some of his tension bleeding from him as he looked up again. “A trade, then. You’ve given me what you’ve given me for nearly as long as this world has been around. I’ve done good- no, wonderful work. Take it from me. Take it from me and give it to him; bring him back with it. Let him live the life he was supposed to and let me take his place. I know that you can do it.” He moved onto his knees again, taking the dwarf’s cold hand into his and squeezing it, even as the last of his warmth was washed away. Bilbo refused to believe it wouldn’t come back and closed his eyes, murmuring a prayer to himself in a language forgotten by this world.

He rocked back and forth as he whispered against dirtied knuckles and only stopped when a warmth danced across his cheek. Bilbo opened his eyes and looked toward the periwinkle sky; it seemed to glitter in response and a smile unbidden came to his lips. They were listening to him. He thought he might have felt her hand brush across his opposite cheek and bit his bottom lip.

“Please. Give my gift to him. Let him go on. I’ve experienced more lifetimes than I can count… let him experience his. I’m ready,” he said softly.

_Are you certain?_

Bilbo’s laugh was out of relief as the voice made of honey and tinkling bells filled his mind; he nodded quickly. “Yes,” he breathed out. “I have never been more certain of anything in my life.”

The feather-soft hand brushed across his brow and he tipped his head into it, the cold of winter seeping away, replaced by warmth that spoke of days on the lake and naps under an oak. He lowered his gaze to Thorin as he felt a tiredness hit him, so suddenly and swiftly that he didn’t notice himself lying down on the ice. He curled against the dwarf’s side, resting his head on a broad chest as his eyelids drooped, still holding a cold hand against his chest.

Had he ever been so tired before? He could not remember a time that exhaustion dug its claws so deeply into him and his body stilled for it; it was taking all he had to simply keep his eyes open. But he could at least spare the energy for the well of happiness that flooded his chest because Thorin’s lips were turning pink and his hand was growing warm and his heart- _oh,_ his heart. It beat against Bilbo’s ear and he held onto the sound, he held onto it as his vision began to blur; he held onto the sure sounds of life as Thorin shifted and his hand was squeezed. He held onto it until Thorin pressed his hand to Bilbo’s chest before he wrapped him up in his arms; then Bilbo let go.

—— _Fourteen Months Before_ ——

Bilbo knelt on the shore of the Water, looking down at the horsetail he had been searching for for an hour or so. He pulled out his small shears and cut some of the plant’s thin stalks; he tied five bundles together and opened his burlap pack, tossing them inside, pleased. His stores had begun to run low and as the weather cooled, he would need the plant for the various medicinal properties it carried. He brushed his hands off before he paused, peering into the water and at the small school of minnows hiding under a group of water lilies, swimming against the light current.

He smiled as he watched them but it was dashed away as a shadow moved over the water and hid them from view. Bilbo blinked, his eyes focusing enough on his surroundings to note the shadow had fallen completely over him too. He jumped, standing and whirling around, looking up at the very tall person that had come to loom behind him. The figure was cloaked and a pointy had was atop their head; they were dark against the bright sun behind them and Bilbo had to shade his eyes before their features were visible to him.

“Gandalf!” Bilbo barked, his mouth operating more quickly than his mind. The wizard seemed to realize as much, as he chuckled, leaning forward against his staff and sending an amused look down his nose. Bilbo continued to blink before he huffed. “Gandalf! Goodness, you startled me! Where on _earth_ did you come from?” He swiveled his head up and down along the pathway that followed the River; no other travelers were about.

“Oh, here and there,” Gandalf answered, earning himself a look of his own. Entirely unamused on Bilbo’s end and that only increased the mirth in the blasted wizard’s eyes. “Bilbo, my lad, it’s wonderful to see you. I was on my way to Bag End and who should I find on the Water? None other than yourself!”

Bilbo reached down to close his pack and hefted it over his shoulder, arching his eyebrows at the wizard. “And what do you want with me this time around?” he asked flatly. “I imagine you’re not dropping by just to join me for afternoon tea.”

“Well, if you are offering, I’d be delighted,” Gandalf responded, smiling as Bilbo rolled his eyes. “It has been a long journey and I think a glass of wine and food would be welcome. I was able to procure some Old Toby on my way through Bree; it has been too long since we last shared a smoke, my dear boy.”

Considering he was in fact older, Bilbo always wondered why Gandalf referred to him as if he were younger; he also wondered why it always felt as if he actually _was._ The hobbit eyed the wizard for a moment longer before he waved his hand, grumbling.

“Fine. A please would be nice but I suppose that’s too much to ask,” he muttered, turning on his heel and beginning to march down the path.

They had to cross Hobbiton to get back to Bag End and Bilbo suspected it was going to be a bit longer of a journey than normal; Gandalf was a rather popular attraction when he came to the Shire. He often brought fireworks with him, much to the delight of hobbits and fauntlings both; Bilbo might have enjoyed them, too, but that was neither here nor there.

Indeed, it took over an hour from the Water to get to Bilbo’s front door, and by the end of it, he was feeling entirely bothered. He was starving and Gandalf was in far too jovial of a mood for his tastes; it meant the wizard was _up to something._ Bilbo had been involved in too many of Gandalf’s harebrained schemes to not know better and whatever he was there for, the hobbit knew it would only spell trouble. It was rather unfortunate that it was his turn to pay back a favor and he was already beginning to think of ways he could talk himself out of it. He hadn’t ventured from the Shire in a long time and the idea of doing so wasn’t nearly as appealing as it might have been, once upon a time. But the last time he had needed aid, Gandalf had been there and he hadn’t complained; he’d risked his life for Bilbo.

He showed the wizard inside and poured a bottle of red wine; he served warmed up slices of steak and mushroom pie and settled in with his guest at his table. Whatever business Gandalf had with him wasn’t spoken of as they shared tales of what they had been doing for the last few years of their lives. It was easy to fall into conversation and begin to reminisce about times few others in this world might have been alive to know of. It was not until they were both two cups in and sufficiently full that Gandalf leaned forward against the table and clasped his hands together, peering at Bilbo soberly.

Bilbo sighed, taking one last sip of his wine, setting his cup aside and telling himself the rest would have to wait. “Well. You best tell me why you’ve come to ruin my evening,” he said, smiling as Gandalf’s lips quirked. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“I have gotten myself into nothing, Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf answered with put on frumpiness. “It is my - and your - role to protect Middle Earth. I will simply get right down to it: there is a stirring in the East. Foul creatures have begun to gather and I fear their purpose; I fear why they are now coming together and why they are now moving. There have been whispers of a turning tide - whispers that have been heard on all sides.”

He reached into his robes and plucked out a piece of worn, filthy fabric, laying it on Bilbo’s table and turning it toward him.

The hobbit blanched, lifting his hand and pressing it against his chest as his heart leapt into his throat. “Oh goodness,” he whispered, blinking hard at the black runes painted onto the fabric. “I haven’t- it’s been ages since I’ve seen- seen _that.”_

Written Black Speech and a promise of payment, if he was still able to read it correctly. He squinted, leaning closer and frowning.

“Oakenshield,” he murmured, humming thoughtfully as he lifted his eyes to Gandalf’s. “Who is Oakenshield and why do they want the poor fellow’s head?”

Bilbo would later lament that he shouldn’t have asked the question but it inspired quite the tale nonetheless. Thorin Oakenshield, an exiled prince of Erebor - the Mountain that a dragon had taken. Bilbo was vaguely aware of what had happened but he had been working in Gondor at the time and hadn’t been close enough to experience the suffering of the dwarves for himself. They had gone on to found Ered Luin, he knew that, but the last of Durin’s Folk that he knew was Nain I - he had not been involved in the East in a long time.

The dwarves of Erebor had been driven from their homeland but it was apparently destined that they would one day return. Gandalf and Bilbo were always wary of prophecies of any kind and it seemed to them that the lack of activity from the dragon, Smaug, was inspiring creatures to return to the Mountain and the whispers of those that watched it. If Smaug were to be weakened, Erebor would be free for many to grab, and Gandalf felt that it might fall into the wrong hands; he wished for the line of Durin to rule again as it was their right but he knew they would have motivation to slay the dragon if he still lived. It seemed that Thorin Oakenshield agreed with the wizard and had called upon the seven dwarf kingdoms to come to his call for aid.

The king also had need of a _burglar_ and Gandalf really didn’t need to explain the role much to Bilbo; he had a general idea of what it was and wanted no part in it. With the way Gandalf was speaking about ‘darkness’ and ‘evil’ though, he could not help but listen - the wizard was right. It was his duty to protect Middle Earth but he felt he was doing a rather fine job of it in the West; he was an accomplished healer and one of the best gardeners that could be found on this good earth! He was a direct child of Yavanna, of course, and the magic that flowed through his veins was unique to him but not everyone had to know that.

Bilbo refused Gandalf straight away but it only seemed to strengthen the wizard’s resolve to see him as a part of the Quest. When the hobbit pointed out that the Shire would lack a healer for the coming winter, Gandalf pointed out that he had at least four apprentices that could do the job just fine in return; Bilbo cursed himself for telling the wizard he had been teaching his craft. His complaints about his garden and his home were similarly brushed aside and it came down to simple moans about his age and not wanting to get mixed up in someone else’s business. Gandalf made it well known how he felt about that and in the end, Bilbo thought simplicity was the only thing for it.

“No,” he stated, holding his hands out, ignoring the stubborn line to the wizard’s brow. “No, Gandalf. I can’t just- just leave my home in the blink of an eye and run off across Middle Earth. I’m not a wandering hero like you are, you know I’m not. I’ve never fit in as well anywhere else and I’m quite happy. They’ve got you, isn’t that enough?”

Gandalf huffed. “They need _you,”_ he returned, standing from the table with a low groan. They had been sitting for a few hours and the sun was beginning to fall. “There is a reason I have come to you instead of telling you this as a tale at a later time. I do not have the skill set you do, as you do not have mine; I believe we both could be of a great help to them. You remember what the dragons of the North did and Smaug himself can do it again, if he were to be tempted. We cannot allow the East to fall like it once did.” He moved around the table to drop his heavy hand onto Bilbo’s shoulder, which he squeezed.

“I must go for now, but I will return; do not forget the deeds of your past, Bilbo. You have done great things.”

“Done so long ago I can hardly remember doing them,” Bilbo muttered, stirring his tea before taking a sip. He stood himself when Gandalf turned and began to walk through his smial; might as well see the wizard out.

“When can I expect you to return? Tomorrow?”

“Oh,” Gandalf said, opening the front door, “perhaps a bit sooner than that.” He looked back down at the hobbit and offered a wink that had Bilbo’s suspicion rising. He was too used to the wizard and his games and knew it would be useless to argue much on it; he simply gave a halfhearted grumble and goodbye before closing his door. His heart wasn’t particularly in it, either - he had had a rather long day.

Well. He might as well get started on dinner; he had a feeling he might be cooking for more than two.

——

He was, of course, cooking for fifteen. If he became somewhat short with Gandalf when twelve dwarves piled into his home, no one could surely blame him. Apparently these were the dwarves of Thorin Oakenshield’s Company because naturally the wizard had invited the very king to his smial, no doubt to attempt to convince him to join them. If anything, he would offer all the reasons he thought their purpose rather ridiculous, if not suicidal.

But Bilbo was a hobbit - mostly - and his manners were ever present, so entertain his guests he did. They had obliterated the modest amount of food he had managed to make and helped themselves to the rest of his pantry as well. He had simply given up, grabbed his mug of ale, and squeezed into his table between Gandalf and a rather massive dwarf by the name of Dwalin who liked to grunt instead of forming actual words when Bilbo attempted conversation. He gave up on that, too.

Eventually all of his food was gone and the dwarves went about cleaning up dishes and straightening the kitchen out rather nicely - he was impressed but not altogether surprised. Quite a lot of folk wrote dwarves off fairly quick instead of actually getting to know them because rumors prevailed sense more often than not; dwarves were a bit rough around the edges with very little table manners besides but they _were_ altogether polite. It helped that those in his smial were so overjoyed that they were quite funny and endlessly interesting as well - even if his kitchen table would go on to collect considerably more nicks and scuffs once they were gone.

Bilbo puffed out a laugh as he leaned comfortably back in his chair, listening to Bofur, the dwarf with the odd hat and twinkling eye, spin a tale of his childhood in the Blue Mountains. They were all reduced to snickers but when three bangs sounded at the door, a hushed silence fell and Bilbo watched everyone sober in the blink of an eye.

“He is here,” Gandalf murmured, as if to himself, and Bilbo rolled his eyes.

“I should think so,” he replied, pushing himself to his feet. Gandalf suggested he get the door and the hobbit firmly told him off, wandering out of his dining room and toward Bag End’s rounded door himself. Chairs were scraping against the floors and a scuffling of boots sounded behind him as the dwarves followed; Gandalf was looming rather closely, which Bilbo sent him a disapproving glare for before he unlocked and opened his door.

Thorin Oakenshield was certainly a king in bearing. Tall, nearly as tall as Dwalin, hard lines and sharp angles. Black-haired but with a rather short beard compared to the rest and eyes the shade of skies cleared after a rain. Those eyes fell onto Bilbo and the hobbit watched his thick brow lift almost imperceptibly as the dwarf gave him a once-over - Bilbo thought he might have seen amusement swim forth and had a feeling it wasn’t a laugh he would be joining in on anytime soon. Instead, he stepped back and motioned the dwarf inside.

“Master Oakenshield, I presume? Did you find your way here alright?” he asked as politely as he could manage as he watched Thorin strut into his smial and take a perfunctory look around. He had a kind smile for his dwarves but it was replaced with mild disinterest when he turned his gaze back onto Bilbo.

“Lost my way. Twice,” Thorin informed him, somehow managing to sound rather arrogant about his failings. He nodded toward Gandalf. “I wouldn’t have found it all had it not been for that mark on the door.”

Bilbo frowned, turning to his door and looking at the front of it before he sighed at the rune mark there. He sent a sidelong glance toward the wizard, who simply arched his eyebrows in return; the hobbit rolled his eyes and closed the door, turning toward Thorin and taking in his brown traveling cloak.

“Hobbiton is normally rather easy to navigate,” he commented, motioning at it. Thorin took his cue and unclasped the cloak, all but tossing it into Bilbo’s outstretched hands; the hobbit had a hard time not narrowing his eyes at him. “Let us hope you make your way a bit more easily to Erebor then, hmm?”

The frosty glare that slowly took over Thorin’s face was, if anything, a bit amusing and Bilbo smiled at him. The dwarves standing behind their king exchanged glances between each other and a few looked as if they were fighting smiles of their own, so the hobbit took that as a victory. If he was going to be entertaining royalty, it didn’t mean that royalty had a free pass to be entirely rude in his home and Thorin Oakenshield was no different.

Gandalf harrumphed. “Ah, perhaps we should sit again. I imagine you might want some dinner and perhaps an ale or two,” he suggested, looking at Thorin. The dwarf grunted out an affirmative but it took him a moment to stop peering at Bilbo and when he finally did, he walked away much more stiffly than when he came in. Bilbo took that as another victory and looked at the wizard - it was his turn to raise his eyebrows innocently and he was granted the sight of Gandalf rolling his eyes at _him_ and sighing as if he were the bearer of all his burdens.

Served him right for piling thirteen dwarves into his home.

Bilbo followed them back into his dining room and watched as Balin, the eldest of them, set a bowl of food in front of the king, who had taken residence at the head of the table. They must have saved the meal for him without Bilbo noticing as he thought every crumb had been swallowed. Fili, the blond with a dimpled grin, fetched Thorin an ale and when everyone was settled, it was certainly a more somber air than it had been before. The hobbit, in all his small stature, managed to squirm his way back into his chair and feel dangerously like a fauntling. With Gandalf and Thorin to his right and Dwalin to his left, he lamented that he probably looked like one too.

Their conversation started light, with Thorin speaking about where he traveled from and to. It quickly became heavy when the dwarf announced that no other dwarf kingdoms were going to aid them - something Bilbo rather agreed with - and that they were quite on their own. Gandalf produced a map that had once belonged to Thror, Thorin’s grandfather, as well as a key, to which Fili declared a bit uselessly that it must mean there was a door. Indeed, a door even the prince of Erebor hadn’t known of was outlined on the map that Gandalf could not read and they would apparently need someone to do it for them but the dwarves were not deterred. Bilbo could feel their excitement beginning to bubble at the prospect of another way into the Mountain, which they could enter and… well, he wasn’t quite sure what they meant to do then.

“So, er, do you plan on simply wandering into the Mountain and- _ah,_ I suppose this is where a burglar might come into it,” Bilbo mused, the thought hitting him halfway there. He sighed as the dwarves all leaned closer to him and Thorin’s gaze pierced right through him, expectant and bordering on a hefty dose of doubtful.

“Indeed!” Gandalf answered a bit more cheerfully than what was surely necessary. “The task I have in mind requires a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage-” here he _winked_ “-but it can be done. Hobbits are incredibly light on their feet-”

“And what makes Master Baggins unique?” Dwalin grunted out, peering out of the corner of his eye at Bilbo. He looked like he thought he were a bug to smash but Bilbo found that more funny than offensive himself. “Why have you chosen him for our burglar? Hobbits are small and soft folk, not the types to be able to fight or fend for themselves in the Wild.”

Bilbo snorted. “Get on the wrong side of a hobbit and you might find you think differently,” he offered, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back. The dwarves were all _staring_ at him and he took in a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks until he let it out in a gusty sigh. “Goodness, though, I’m hardly a burglar-”

“But you have exceptional skills,” Gandalf interrupted firmly, squinting down at the hobbit. “Skills that this Quest dearly needs. You-”

“Aye, you have spoken of his _skills,”_ Thorin interjected, his mocking tone lost on absolutely no one, “but he is still not a burglar. Have you done much fighting, Master Baggins? Have you traveled the Wild before?”

It seemed as if Gandalf was quickly losing patience but Bilbo waved him off. “Quite a lot,” he answered, watching with satisfaction as Thorin’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. He thought briefly of going along just to spite the dwarf but- no. That momentary smugness wasn’t worth risking everything for. “I have been to many different places, Master Oakenshield, which is likely one of the reasons why Gandalf wishes for me to join your Quest. Perhaps I’m not a fighter though I have very little reason to be in the Shire. My _home.”_ He turned a pointed eye on the wizard.

Gandalf harrumphed. “Your home has been many places,” he pointed out unhelpfully and to the many murmurs of the dwarves surrounding the dining table. “You know the importance of what I am suggesting and you fit the part we need filled well. Surely one more adventure won’t hurt.”

Bilbo snorted. “Surely one more adventure is all that’s needed to kill me,” he retorted, folding his hands together and attempting not to fidget. They were all still _looking_ at him but it was Thorin that was getting to him the most; the dwarf obviously doubted him, which was somewhat fair, but it made him uneasy nonetheless. “What exactly do you want burgled from the dragon?”

It was another question he came to regret as it inspired another lengthy tale of a glowing stone that was apparently needed to rule Erebor. It was spoken about with some reverence and caution but also want and Bilbo was reminded, not for the first or last time, of the greediness of dwarves. Not that every race wasn’t greedy in some way; hobbits valued food most of all but at least that hadn’t led to any wars or intentional bloodshed. But he listened either way and found something deep in his gut tugging, telling him to run away with them, that it would be quite alright to stretch his legs; another part of him, decidedly in his sensible mind, told that part to keep its mouth shut. If it had been an Age before, he might have packed up without a second thought but he had been settled for a long time now and found the routine soothing.

After more conversation that thankfully steered into lighter territory, most of the dwarves decided to retire in his sitting room and he went about cleaning up after Thorin, despite protests from a few dwarves. He needed a moment by himself to think but by the time he was putting away the bowl and tankard and a low song was sung by the Company, that tug in his gut had moved seemingly everywhere else, happily overpowering any sense he had; they were sorrowful. They simply wanted their long lost home back and he couldn’t begrudge them that though something small peeped that it wasn’t his business before it too was firmly squashed.

Bilbo ventured to his sitting room, leaning against the archway as the dwarves finished their melancholic song, falling into a quiet that lasted a good long while. Some of them nodded off where they sat while others eventually began to roam the smial in search of some place to settle down for the night, it seemed. He found, to his dismay, that he wasn’t particularly tired and fled to his kitchen to make a cup of tea.

Thorin found him there, sitting at his small table, munching on a blueberry scone and drinking a cup of chamomile. The dwarf didn’t say anything as he stepped to the bench across from Bilbo and sat down, looking rather larger than life in the cozy space. He looked as if he belonged in a great dwarven kingdom and he looked as if he was missing a crown.

“Will you come?” the king asked without preamble, resting his forearms against the table.

Bilbo had his mouth open to take another bite of his scone and felt it hang agape until he shook himself, setting the pastry aside. “Er,” he managed, clearing his throat and shrugging. “I… hadn’t planned on it? I mean, it seems a good enough cause but also rather suicidal, if you don’t mind my saying. I hadn’t chosen this year or next to die, you know, so it seems as if staying here is in my best interest.”

A slight smile, to his great surprise. “There have been many more journeys in my life and all more dangerous than this one. I have survived yet,” Thorin commented, watching him with eyes shadowed by the lack of light but from the fire. “I do not believe we will perish on this Quest though I do know a dragon is dangerous.”

“Oh good. I’m glad you realize that much about it,” Bilbo replied, his own lips quirking into a smile. He looked down at his tea, pulling his cup closer and shrugging. “Still. It’s a bit much. I haven’t traveled in a long while and I’m not sure I’d be up for it. What’s in it for me, anyway?”

“Besides a fourteenth share of the treasure?”

“Yes, besides that,” Bilbo chuckled. “I don’t care for treasure nor do I need any.”

“Honor and glory?” Thorin suggested, sounding suspiciously amused though he kept a straight enough face. Bilbo found himself laughing quietly.

“Beyond those, too,” he answered, shaking his head. “I have no need for them. It sounds like there isn’t much for me to gain here beyond potential disaster in the way of loss of limb or life. Any excitement would likely wear off before too long, what with being surrounded by dwarves and all.” He smiled, ducking his head as Thorin arched an eyebrow at him.

The dwarf huffed a bit. “I will grant you that,” he said and a deep, rumbling chuckle left his throat as Bilbo peered up at him. “You would know that your place amongst us would be one of the few reasons we succeed and Erebor thrives once more. She would never be taken again and the Mountain will keep for another Age, that I am confident of. If you succeed as our burglar, you might find yourself the sole reason why I am able to claim my throne.”

Bilbo arched his eyebrows, leaning back and humming in consideration. “Well then, that would be quite something, wouldn’t it? What if I wanted the Mountain for myself, being the only reason for its new life?” he asked curiously, lifting his cup and taking a sip. He tried not to be struck silly when a lovely grin took Thorin, a flash of white teeth showing briefly before he visibly pushed it away, somewhat to Bilbo’s amusement.

“You drive a hard bargain, Halfling,” Thorin sighed, crossing his arms over his chest in a broad sort of way. “I do not think I could give you that. Perhaps a place on my council?”

“Oh goodness, no,” Bilbo answered, shuddering at the very thought of it, teasing or no. “It’s either all or nothing I’m afraid. Do you know what, only two hours ago you seemed to doubt me quite a lot and now you seem as if you might want me to tag along. What’s changed, hmm?”

Thorin stared at him in quiet for a moment. “I do not know,” he answered slowly, “but you seem interested yourself and Gandalf swears by you. He has asked me to trust in him with regards to you and I must think there is a reason for that. You are more learned in the ways of the world than I first assumed, I’ll admit. You are a healer by trade from what I understand and though we already have a healer, a second would not hurt us, not on a Quest to slay a dragon. And you have survived in the world of Men; there is something to be said in that.” His lips quirked as Bilbo huffed out a laugh at that.

“That’s fair. It is an, um, experience, that’s for sure,” he replied, smiling still.

Working in the poorer districts of Gondor was difficult enough on its own; add in guards and those suspicions of his, let’s say, talents, it was another thing altogether. He was a wonderful healer thanks to Yavanna but even those who had benefited from his skills still looked at him as if he were a witch; distinctly different from a wizard as apparently lacking in a staff was enough to warrant you possibly evil. He had been lucky for a thanks in Gondor let alone anything else and it was one of the many reasons he had come back to the West; hobbits themselves might have been suspicious once upon a time but it only took one instance of help to endear him to them.

It helped that he was one of the very first hobbits even if he was still… different.

“I suppose I learned a thing or two I certainly wouldn’t have if I hadn’t traveled,” Bilbo conceded, shrugging modestly. “But it still doesn’t make me fit to be a burglar, you know. And it doesn’t mean we would be any safer! Thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, and a wizard? Taking on a dragon? They’re very large.”

“Aye, dragons are large,” Thorin agreed, not bothering to hide his amusement this time, “and you are very small. Which is what we require. Think on it, Master Baggins. If you decide not to join us by morning… come anyway.” He arched his eyebrows as he stood from the table, smirking as Bilbo scoffed at him. “Get some sleep, it is late.” And then without further ado, he simply turned on his heel and marched back toward the sitting room, leaving the hobbit to grumble after him.

“It’s my smial,” Bilbo muttered to himself, lifting his tea and downing the cooling liquid. Blasted dwarves and blasted handsome kings. Not that Thorin being rather dashingly handsome had anything to do with anything, of course. It was just a footnote in his busy mind. He sighed, taking his cup to the washbasin before he snagged the remaining bit of his scone, nibbling on it as he made his way to his bedroom.

_Come anyway._

_Well, pish posh and hogwash to that,_ Bilbo thought as he closed his bedroom door and walked to his closet. And if he inspected his pack and the belongings he might need on a journey to Erebor, well, that wasn’t anyone else’s business, was it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aiming for five chapters here, wish me luck. This is mostly a love story because why not! Bilbo isn't magical in any of my other WIPs, lol.


	2. Chapter 2

Bilbo Baggins was, yet again, on an adventure.

It was certainly not one of his choosing and had already inspired more grievances than anything. He had forgotten his beloved pipe and if he was less than stellar company the first few nights without it, surely none could blame him. And after so long resting his head on a feather pillow, the severe lack of anything near the territory of comfortable was grating on him before they were even two weeks from the Shire. Why had he run out of his door? Thorin seemed to slip in between thinking him an odd creature and behaving neutrally around him, which Bilbo was assured were his two average moods.

It seemed to be a night of the latter as the Company settled down near the fire and exchanged many tales that Bilbo half-listened to. They were a rambunctious bunch and more than not grated at his nerves as well but they had more or less accepted him as one of them. They also seemed to be largely entertained when he and Gandalf fell into grumbling at and cursing one another.

That was where Bilbo found himself that night, sitting by the fire and squinting across it toward the wizard who was leaning against a boulder just a little ways off. They had argued about going through the Misty Mountains or the Gap of Rohan _(quite_ a bit safer considering they weren’t using the main Road of travel through the Mountains though he could admit very much out of the way) and had gone separate ways when the wizard had declared they would need someone to view the map before any such decisions were made. Bilbo could only guess at who Gandalf wished to show the map to but they were very _limited_ guesses and he knew Thorin was well within his rights to be suspicious.

Bilbo grumbled to himself, looking at the fire as the dwarves around him burst into raucous laughter; he had come to learn the worrying wheezing belonged to Balin and no longer looked around in alarm when he heard it. He wished he could join in their cheer but most also had pipes hanging from their mouths and he found it only soured his mood further. He hefted the stick he had been prodding the fire with back into the flames, watching the wood become black and scorched before he peered up at Gandalf again. The wizard had produced the map for what had to have been the thousandth time and he could no longer stand it.

He hopped to his feet, dropping the stick and marching his way around to Gandalf, stopping at his side. The wizard glanced up at him warily before he straightened the map purposefully, as if that might inspire the hobbit to move along, but he huffed out a short scoff.

“Do you mind if I look at it?” he asked pointedly, arching his eyebrows as Gandalf looked sharply up at him again. “I haven’t gotten my chance to stare at it yet. I promise I won’t throw it into the fire even if I think that’s really it’s proper place.” The wizard eyed him before he held out the map, muttering around his pipe and waving dismissively once Bilbo took it.

“Thank you.”

He turned his back further on the fire and raised the map up so he could peer at it in its light. It looked much the same as it had when he had seen it on his dining table in Bag End and watched Thorin be gifted a key that belonged with it. Old and yellowed and frayed but still rather beautiful, the inked red dragon standing out most of all. It brought some bile to the back of his throat as he was on his way to greet that very same red dragon but he swallowed it down and turned around, the light of the moon shining on the parchment. The side of the map caught his eye and he blinked, tilting his head with a frown.

“Oh. Moon runes,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. There was a sudden choking noise behind him and Bilbo turned, blinking at Gandalf as he began to hack against the smoke of his pipe. “Moon runes! Don’t tell me you didn’t see these? _Did_ you see these? Oh for Eru’s sake.” He stepped forward and grabbed the wizard’s water skin from where he had been searching for it, handing it to Gandalf in hopes that he didn’t choke to death.

It gathered the attention of most of the dwarves and they looked on in worry; Thorin had been lurking at the edge of the camp and was now facing them, his hands clasped behind his back and wearing an unamused expression. He didn’t seem in a particular hurry to offer aid and Bilbo had to refrain from rolling his eyes; the dwarf was the very definition of stubborn.

“Moon runes,” Gandalf gasped, his voice broken and hoarse. Once he finished wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, he scrambled to his feet and all but tore the map from Bilbo’s hands; it certainly caught the attention of the dwarves and seemingly as one, the entire Company grew quiet and still, with the exception of Thorin, who hurried to their sides, interested at last.

“Moon runes! Ah, well,” Gandalf faltered, clearing his throat as he looked at Thorin before he squared himself straight. “An easy thing to miss. My dear boy, I hardly thought you would be able to see anything on this map that I could not.” He peered back down at Bilbo, squinting at him as if he had done something wrong in finding the runes - it seemed as if he had truly not known they were there but why he seemed disgruntled by it, the hobbit couldn’t really say. Hadn’t the wizard spoken of their different skill sets?

“Well, suppose you should’ve let me look at it sooner,” Bilbo replied, shrugging his shoulders and looping his thumbs in his pockets, smiling as Gandalf scowled at him.

“Perhaps I should have. Well, be that as it may, you of course cannot read them and we will have to find another to do so still. Though it narrows it down considerably, as there are very few left on this earth that can,” Gandalf explained toward Thorin, who was looking between him and the map with something akin to surprise mingled with his ever present suspicion.

Bilbo frowned. “Well, I say, Gandalf, how do you know I can’t read them?” he asked crossly, jutting his chin out as the wizard sent him another sharp look.

“Can you?” Thorin asked, stepping closer to him, his blue eyes suddenly alight with so much hope that Bilbo dearly wished he could. “Can you read them? Give him the map.” His tone was firm and left no room for arguments as he looked to the wizard.

Gandalf harrumphed, looking warily between them before he let out a long, slow sigh, handing the map back to Bilbo. He took it with a huff and glanced back down at the parchment, his hair standing on end when he heard the Company shuffle to their feet, beginning to murmur amongst themselves. He hadn’t particularly wanted an audience nor for Thorin to come loom at his shoulder but he would do his very best to reassure them; he had not seen moon runes in nearly an Age.

“Mmm, well,” Bilbo muttered, twisting the parchment to shine more in the light of the moon. “They can only be read in the light of the same moon that they were first written under-” a scoff from Gandalf “-and this is a midsummer crescent, um… let’s see…” He took a step back, nearly bumping into Thorin before the dwarf stepped aside, and looked up toward the moon. “Well. That moon will be upon us in three nights. Perhaps there is some credence to fate all along.”

The map was plucked out of his hands by Thorin, who gazed down at it with reverence before he snapped his eyes back to Bilbo. “You can read it then?” he asked quietly. The hobbit answered with half a shrug and nod and the look that overcame Thorin’s features was truly a sight to behold. He looked infinitely younger suddenly as he lit up and his lips spread open in a white grin; Bilbo wouldn’t have been surprised if he resembled one of his prize-winning tomatoes himself because of it and had to straighten his waistcoat out to keep his hands busy.

“Master Baggins, we will owe you much if you can read this. We owe you much now,” Thorin said quietly, the map gripped worryingly tight in his hands. The boyish joy fell away as quickly as it came and Thorin’s eyes darkened as he turned to look at Gandalf, who arched his eyebrows innocently. “And who left on this earth could read this if our burglar could not? Who would you have taken this map to, wizard?”

“Ah- well now,” Gandalf started before he stopped, peering down at the king with one hand resting on his hip, looking decidedly uncomfortable and harried. “Well, what does it matter? If Bilbo can indeed read moon runes - a talent I can promise you I did not know he possessed - then we have no need to show this map to any others. Something you will surely be glad for, Thorin Oakenshield.” He held his hand out for the map but Thorin only tipped his head back and leveled the wizard with an unimpressed glare. He reached out and handed it to Bilbo instead.

The hobbit groaned. “Oh, don’t give it to me, Thorin. Let Gandalf keep it, it’s much safer with him. I spilled stew all over my trousers just last night,” Bilbo peeped, waving his hand at the parchment. Thorin did not look pleased but he handed it to Gandalf nonetheless; the wizard took it with a bit more vigor than necessary, squinting at the king as he did so before he tucked it neatly away in his robes.  
  
Thorin eyed Gandalf for a moment more before turning back to Bilbo. “How can it be that you read moon runes, Master Baggins?” he asked, thankfully only sounding curious and not suspicious.  
  
“Well,” Bilbo said, glad he could tell the truth on this, “Gondor has an entire village worth of archives, some very old. Dwarf secrets aren’t as secret as you think, you know.” He smiled a little as Thorin arched a brow at him. “In a rather ancient book, I found a key. I worked in Gondor for quite a while and out of curiosity, I studied it. Never really had the opportunity to read them beyond that book and what I wrote myself.”  
  
The king stared at him and Bilbo held his breath until Thorin finally nodded. “Then fate does seem to be looking upon us,” he murmured, a quirk to his lips before it faded and he turned a hard stare on the wizard again.

Bilbo now knew precisely where Gandalf had meant to subtly lead them and while it was decidedly a _scheme,_ he at least knew why he was attempting to be secretive about it; Thorin didn’t want to step foot near elves because he was an arrogant fool on his best of days but his suspicions were founded. Bilbo could only hope that it didn’t hamper their journey further and that he didn’t have to step in as the mediator - something he had vehemently sworn to himself he would not do.

He sighed as he watched Gandalf and Thorin glare at each other, both haughty in their own way, before he decided to leave them to it. They’d gotten as far as they were going to that night and it would be time to bed down soon; he turned on his heel and marched to his abandoned bedroll, grabbing his blanket when he got to it. He settled down on the ground near to the fire and draped his blanket over himself, resting his head on his pack and listening to the dwarves’ excited babble. It worried him that it was somewhat soothing now though he knew he would not be lulled to sleep for a time.  
  
Eventually the Company did choose to sit back down and converse and drop off; just when Bilbo thought he might follow them, there was a dull thunk near his feet.

When he looked and saw Thorin settling himself down for the night next to him, he swallowed down his chuckle. Thorin looked at him then, though, his blue eyes bright and shining in the fire and a smile graced his lips. It was such a smile, that when Bilbo closed his eyes, he could still see it glowing bright.

——

In the end, the Company had no choice but to find safety in the House of Lord Elrond. Nothing had quite gone their way over the last two days but as Gandalf saw fit to remind Bilbo, they would not have to voice their reasons for traveling near Rivendell’s lands; they could simply say they were traveling to the Iron Hills and the elves would accept it. Bilbo knew they were not foolish enough to be believed, of course, but it did not seem as if Lord Elrond wished to push them for answers and that was enough for him. There was one plus, however, and that was that Bilbo could read the map more easily in the elven city.

Despite the dwarves’ reservations for the elves, they were more than glad to take the home provided for them and drink their wine in excess. Good cheer was found in the sitting hall of the home as the dwarves drank and sang and danced; they had produced more food and it could have been a celebration fit for the ages, but for there only being thirteen dwarves and a hobbit.

Bilbo was content enough to watch and sip on wine but he could not escape Fili and Kili for long; the brothers dragged him along with them and questioned him for songs and dances from the Shire. He was not particularly fond of dancing and refused but he was more than happy to sing a tale and recite poems for the dwarves. Joy bubbled in his chest and he found himself breathless and with tears in his eyes from laughing so very much; as he took a moment to gather himself as the dwarves argued over which song to play next, he noticed Thorin excusing himself from the hall and slipping into the night.

He followed him then and if anyone asked him why, he would not have been able to say.

The door was quiet as he opened it and slipped outside and the merriment inside the home was muffled when he closed it behind him again. Before him lay a very small, square courtyard with a table and two chairs but beyond them were stairs that led up to a balcony, stairs that the dwarf king was climbing. If he had heard the hobbit follow, he made no indication of it but Bilbo continued after him anyway. He ascended the stairs and came to a stop on the sweeping balcony that overlooked a vast area of Imladris, beautiful in the moonlight, speckled with white lanterns and the glow of waterfalls. It was serene and warmth filled Bilbo’s chest, a different sort than the one the wine had brought forth.

Thorin had gone to stand by the stone parapet, a railing carved into it and Bilbo had to stop to take in the sight that was the king. His back was to Bilbo but when he turned his head up to look at the sky, the hobbit could see his eyes and the sharp edge of his nose, the soft curve of his mouth; he was not frowning and he did not look bothered but there was a heaviness to him that Bilbo couldn’t place. He petered there, not sure if he should approach the dwarf or leave him to his thoughts; they had earned quiet.

“Are you going to join me, Master Burglar?” the dwarf’s deep voice broke through Bilbo’s haze and he started for it. Thorin didn’t look back at him but he had made the hobbit’s decision nonetheless.

Bilbo hummed as he walked to Thorin’s side, stopping in front of the stone railing a few feet from him, looking down and over the city below. “A fine view,” he remarked before he could think better of it. A small snort of disdain left his companion and Bilbo smiled, glancing sidelong at him. “Even you have to admit it’s a lovely sight.”

“I have to do no such thing,” Thorin replied. He sounded, if anything, at ease, and it was enough to pool more warmth in the hobbit’s gut. “There are far better sights in this world than an elven city.”

“Mountains?” Bilbo ventured, pointing in the direction of the Misty Mountains that loomed close. A low hum of approval left the king’s chest and Bilbo chuckled, finally looking at him. He was not smiling but his eyes twinkled - Bilbo vowed to keep that to himself. “They’re both lovely. What brings you out here if you don’t like the view, hmm? Were the songs and dance getting to be a bit much for you, sulking in your corner?”

An entirely inelegant noise escaped Thorin as he looked at the hobbit. “Is that what I was doing? Sulking?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, his hands clasping behind his back. He appeared quite kingly in the dark of night, even without his fur-lined coat; the moonlight caressed his cheeks, making them appear lighter against his dark beard and hair - he could have been carved from stone if Bilbo didn’t look too closely.

“Well. That’s what it seemed like,” he answered, smiling softly as Thorin dipped his head, his eyebrow still arched as if unimpressed. “I think it would have been very good for morale had you taken Bofur’s position atop the table and recited lewd poetry to us all.”

Thorin chuckled. “I was enjoying it, even if it appeared as if I were _sulking,”_ he intoned, shaking his head lightly and raising his eyes to the stars again. “I have much on my mind, Master Baggins, and many responsibilities to be concerned with. My Company is in good spirits and I can ask no more than that for this evening. I prefer the quiet myself.”

“I can understand that. As do I,” Bilbo agreed, shrugging his shoulders as he rested his arms on the stone railing, brushing his fingertips over it.

“And yet you seemed to be enjoying yourself immensely,” Thorin commented. It sounded like he didn’t approve, oddly.

Bilbo looked at him but the king only appeared neutral as he stared back. “I was but I think it’s fair to say that I haven’t particularly enjoyed any of this so a night like tonight was enough for me to be happy for,” he pointed out. “And I think we deserve it. We’ve come across a bit more trouble than I imagined we would! We should have been in the Mountains already, if not out of them.”

“Aye,” Thorin agreed, his shoulders sagging a little as he sighed. He likely didn’t need the reminder and Bilbo felt himself flounder for a way to reassure the dwarf in some way. “The Mountains will be dangerous to pass through though I hope we do not come across trolls,” the king continued, smiling ruefully at the hobbit.

“Goodness, as do I,” Bilbo replied, smiling back, taking a step closer and leaning in conspiratorially. “Though I’ve been keeping a close eye on Fili and Kili since that little incident and I think they know it. They’ve been behaving rather well.”

Thorin’s smile was more genuine at that and he lowered his gaze to his hands where they had taken to resting on the railing. “And I thought I was the one responsible for it,” he said, a light tease in his tone. “They do seem to appreciate you. Fili’s wound from that fight has already improved and I believe you have endeared yourself to Kili for it. Take care to ignore their feigns of innocence from here on out.”

Bilbo chuckled, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “I’ve plenty of practice at that. Fauntlings and their doe eyes can’t be compared to dwarves, I’m afraid, they’re much more deadly,” he responded, looking up at the stars. “I enjoy letting them think they’ve got me wrapped around their sticky fingers so I can betray them at the last moment.”

The dwarf laughed and a grin took him as Bilbo watched, attempting to not let his heart get the best of him. It was fluttering wildly in his chest suddenly and he tried convincing himself that the culprit was perhaps too much food and drink. He bit his lip, his lips quirking, pulling into a grin of his own before he could stop it. Thorin’s laughter was rich and a little hoarse, as if he had not had much cause to be joyful in a time; Bilbo suspected that was true, as he rarely saw the king smile, let alone be filled with mirth as he was then.

“If it comes to pass, I would like to see my nephews despair over it,” Thorin replied. He was closer suddenly and nudging his arm against Bilbo’s. “The Shire was only waking when we departed from it but there were already many children wandering. I am not used to seeing so many in such a small place. Is this how you have practice?”

“Oh yes. There were far more children than you saw, even, that was a very small group,” Bilbo commented, smiling as the dwarf’s eyebrows slowly inched up his forehead. “I saw to them all, of course, as the Shire’s healer, so I’m familiar with them. They also like my baking.” He squared his shoulders proudly, harrumphing and nodding. “It’s rather good, I have to say. I experiment more than others and I’ve got quite a few unique creations up my sleeve.”

Many, many decades of practice helped, but he didn’t need to inform Thorin of that.

“There were many years that I ate very little of anything that was baked,” Thorin said, watching the hobbit rather than the stars. “I have a fondness for it now. Perhaps you can find a place in Erebor’s kitchens once we have reclaimed the Mountain.”

Bilbo laughed, turning to lean his ribs against the railing. “Do you think I’m going to stay in Erebor once this is all said and done?” he asked, arching his eyebrows expectantly. Thorin huffed out what seemed like a haughty chuckle but Bilbo thought there might have been a very curious flush to his nose.

“No,” the dwarf answered, lowering his gaze to his hands again, “I do not. Though you would be welcome should you choose to stay and you are welcome should you choose to visit someday. There will be few of us in the Mountain when it is retaken, however. Stay for a time before you journey back to your Shire.”

“To bake for you?”

“To help us restore Erebor,” Thorin chuckled. “But perhaps you can do as such as well.”

Bilbo grinned. “Maybe I will. If you are very lucky, anyway. I’ll stay to help with Erebor, at least for a little while,” he agreed. He looked back to the city and hummed, watching two elves walk together on a bridge some distance from them, one holding a lantern of a low, glowing white light. “I think I’ll be happy to see the Lonely Mountain, after all I’ve heard of it.”

“It is beyond words,” Thorin answered proudly, earning himself an amused gaze. “You will agree with me in the end, Master Baggins, of that I am sure. I will leave it to you to put into words once you set eyes upon it.”

“Out of the two of us, I am certainly better with words,” Bilbo replied, snickering as Thorin’s lips thinned. It seemed a bit put on anyway. “I will wax poetics once I see it, how’s that?” He patted the dwarf’s forearm, watching blue eyes fall to his hand, only removing it once he had given it a light squeeze. He would break Thorin’s very thick shell, even if it was one small crack at a time - the king deserved some good humor and friendship.

“Would you like to go back inside with me?”

Thorin shook his head and Bilbo felt his heart drift down to lie somewhere in his stomach. But then the dwarf slid his hand to his wrist, applying some pressure, and there was a slight smile on his lips. “Stay with me for a while more. Then we can rejoin the others,” Thorin murmured.

With a sigh, Bilbo nodded his assent. “Very well,” he said, “though I very much wish I had a pipe to enjoy. Perhaps I can find one while I’m here. Though it would be quite a feat, I don’t believe many elves smoke.”

The king murmured something rather foul about elves in return and Bilbo, while laughing, managed to scold him, though Thorin only looked satisfied with himself. A few moments later and the dwarf had produced his pipe, packing it and lighting it, offering Bilbo the first smoke. The hobbit learned then that Thorin didn’t know how to blow a smoke ring and insisted on teaching him - he promised himself he would hold the sound of Thorin’s laughter as close to his heart as he could, until their journey’s end.

——

Evening next found the Company around the massive dining table in their guest home. It had been a long, trying day for all; Thorin had let go of his easy mood and embraced the impatience of dwarves. When the moon rose, Bilbo would be able to read the runes and he knew of a place in Rivendell that he would be able to; he had been there on a few occasions in the past. One would think the moon would only be in the sky for a few short moments with the way the dwarves were behaving and Bilbo had to threaten Thorin with Lord Elrond before he let him be.

The dwarves were eating supper; large arrays of pork and chicken were weighing the table down. Only one salad bowl was in front of Bilbo and he had already polished most of it off. There were many types of potatoes as well, which seemed to be one of the very few vegetables the dwarves could tolerate, and Bilbo watched with some exasperation as mashed and baked were inhaled with manners that would send any hobbit into mortification. The only one not eating was, unsurprisingly, Thorin, though Bilbo saw Balin hide away a plate for him while there was still an opportunity for him to.

“Are you sure we can’t come?” Kili asked, his mouth stuffed with roast boar, sitting to Bilbo’s right. “I’d like to see where you spoke of. _And_ I’d like to see those moon runes.”

Bilbo sighed, grabbing his wine and taking a healthy gulp. “I’ve already told you, Kili, we’re trying _not_ to get noticed,” he chastised, eyeing the dwarf next to him. Fili was on his left and the prince snorted. “You two are rather noticeable.”

“Oh come on, Bilbo,” Fili said placatingly, though his eyes were alight with mischief. “We know how to be quiet. My brother is a hunter by nature, very light on his feet, very quiet. He has to be.”

“For tracking,” Kili added, though it was hard to discern through the large mouthful of potatoes he was now chewing. At Bilbo’s light glare, the dwarf finished chewing and swallowed, then grinned. “We’re probably a lot quieter than Thorin. You’ve seen the way him and Dwalin stomp about. No subtlety at all.”

“You are not one to speak of subtlety,” Bilbo muttered drily, rolling his eyes and picking up a biscuit. He munched on it, ignoring two hopeful gazes, instead looking around at the others. An entire chicken pot pie flew through the air, caught by Bombur’s eager hands; the dwarf happily went about cutting into it, serving Bofur at his side with a generous slice. Bilbo shook his head fondly. “No no. I believe you two belong here.”

A heavy sigh came from his right and the hobbit watched from the corner of his eye as Kili stabbed a fresh baked potato from the mound in front of him, settling it on his plate. “Fine! We’ll just stay here and rot,” he moaned with exaggerated sorrow. “Though Thorin might ruin the experience anyway.” He raised his eyes across the table and to his uncle, who stood at the end of the dining room, gazing wistfully out of the large window.

Bilbo lamented that he could hardly see anything but the cobbled road outside and had to swallow a sigh; dramatics of dwarves. “He likely would. He’s been a pain in my rear end all day long,” he declared, taking another bite of his biscuit, chewing on it with a little more vigor than before. “Your uncle has a vast range of emotions, contrary to popular belief.”

“Oh, that’s just to those that don’t know him well,” Fili responded with a shrug and smirk. “Trust us, we know well his _range of emotions._ He’s Ered Luin’s snow-capped peaks or Erebor’s iron forges and everything in between.”

“Poetic,” Kili commented, waving his baked potato in a circle, squinting mockingly at his brother. Fili only rolled his eyes and sent a rude hand gesture his way. “Though he does seem to have formed a bit of a soft spot for hobbits. Not something I thought would happen after that first night in your home. If you keep surprising us with your talents, he may just ask you to stay in Erebor indefinitely, good luck token and all.”

Bilbo cleared his throat, blaming the heat in his cheeks on his wine. He would not tell them Thorin had already declared him welcome in Erebor. “Yes, well,” he mumbled into his cups, shrugging a shoulder. “Maybe he should not be so quick to write others off to begin with.” He ducked his head as a dinner roll soared dangerously close to him, thrown by Bifur to (or at) Dwalin.

“He is very talented at that himself, as loath as I am to say it,” a familiar voice commented. Balin leaned forward from where he sat on Fili’s left, looking at Bilbo with a dryness that made him snort into his wine goblet. “The moon is starting to rise, laddie. He will come over in only a moment or two.” He tilted his head forward, though his own quirking lips gave him away; they all seemed to agree that Thorin Oakenshield was utterly foolish but on occasion endearingly so.

It was maddening.

He sighed, finishing his wine and biscuit, watching Thorin from the corner of his eye. They all remained silent and indeed, only one more moment passed before Thorin turned from the window, sought out Bilbo, and began to march toward him. Fili and Kili fell into choked laughter and the hobbit shared a quick look with Balin before turning to face the king as he approached.

“Night falls,” Thorin informed him, as if he could not see it himself. “When will you be prepared to leave?”

“Do you know what, I was thinking about it and I do believe I got my days mixed up. It might be a _waning_ crescent,” Bilbo tried, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. Thorin did not buy into it however and squinted all too knowingly at him.

“That is not amusing, Master Baggins,” he returned grumpily as his nephews snickered.

“It’s a little amusing,” Kili said, ducking his head to hide his grin as Thorin turned his glare to him.

Bilbo smiled, grabbing his napkin and dabbing the corners of his mouth with it before he stood from the table. “Yes, alright. I suppose we can go though I’m fairly sure the moon remains in the sky for many hours each night,” he commented lightly, only to be stared at impatiently in return. He sighed, looking at Balin, who was also rising from the table.

“Best just get on with it, laddie,” the older dwarf responded, standing on his toes and looking across the home. Gandalf was sitting in a chair by the fire, already having finished his supper, and smoking his pipe while watching the flames.

The wizard seemed to sense eyes on him and glanced over at the trio before he noticeably muttered, knocking the ashes of his pipe into the fire and standing a moment later. Bilbo, Balin, and Thorin crossed the home and met Gandalf at the front door, looking up at the wizard expectantly. His mouth twisted.

“Bilbo, my boy, are you sure you remember the way?” the wizard asked, not for the first time.

Bilbo groaned. “Yes, I’m _sure,”_ he replied moodily, turning to the door and opening it. “We will meet you there shortly.” He waved dismissively as Gandalf grumbled at him, stepping out into the warm night air, followed by the dwarves. He was to lead them to a crystal formation which would shine bright when hit by the light of the moon; it would make for a much easier time spent reading the runes on the map. They only had to hope they were not stopped on the way, as they had to venture through Rivendell’s courtyards and well-endowed library to get there. None would likely have a reason to be there when they arrived but Bilbo found himself begging Eru for luck anyway.

He led the dwarves through the streets of Rivendell, knowing they would be far less busy later in the evening had a certain dwarf king not been so impatient; elves that knew him attempted to say hello and he was forced to be rather rude in rushing out excuses for skirting them. Thorin questioned him about it, even if he _knew_ Bilbo had visited Rivendell before, and they bickered for a good portion of their walk to the city’s library. Balin only occasionally gave a loud sigh to voice his opinion on it but dwarf and hobbit ignored him in favor of insulting each other.

It made their trip faster than it might have seemed otherwise and soon they were browsing their way through the library, attempting to make themselves seem as innocuous as possible. Thorin failed rather mightily at it and Bilbo didn’t know if he found it more amusing or depressing.

Eventually they left the library and found a stone path that wound behind it; it circled a cliff and would lead to an opened grotto which offered a view of the valleys and Mountains beyond, waterfalls surrounding it. The crystal lay there, the mouth of the hollow wide enough to offer many hours of moonlight against it.

Bilbo was not sure how, but when they rounded the cliff and stepped into the open cliffside, Gandalf was already there and standing at the crystal, peering at them. The hobbit huffed to himself as they walked forth to meet him; Thorin at his side produced the map from his inner tunic and unfolded it more carefully than he had done before, as if afraid of the new environment harming it. He handed it to Bilbo without a word but stared at him intensely enough that he had to clear his throat.

The hobbit wandered to the crystal, laying the map on it, glancing sidelong at the wizard. Gandalf only arched his eyebrows expectantly and Bilbo sighed, brushing his sweaty palms off on his trousers before he smoothed the map to lay flat. He glanced up at the moon, glad for the clear skies, then looked back down to the map in time to watch the silver ink begin to shine in the light. His companions all leaned closer to him and he squared his shoulders, looking at the runes, ignoring his rabbiting heart.

“Let’s see… it says: _‘Stand by the grey stone when the thrush-’_ knocks? Yes, _‘-knocks and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the key-hole.’_ Oh dear. Durin’s Day? But isn’t that-”

“Soon,” Thorin said hoarsely, looking at Balin, worry shining in his eyes. “It will soon be upon us.”

“There is time,” Balin reassured, holding his hand up to placate the king. “We can still find the door by Durin’s Day. We simply cannot linger any longer than necessary when we stop for rest. Then it is only a matter of finding the door and being there for the setting sun. This is still good news.”

Bilbo exchanged a short glance with Gandalf. It had already taken them quite a lot longer than it really should have to even get to Rivendell and they had a Mountain range and an entire Forest to travel through before they would reach Erebor; Durin’s Day was months from then but against the distance they had to cross still, it seemed a very short time indeed. If they missed the sunset on that day, the entire Quest would have been for naught and Bilbo simply wouldn’t let that happen.

“We’ll be there for it,” he said softly, looking at Thorin and smiling reassuringly. “We’ve been lucky in regard to this map. I think we’ll be lucky the rest of the way from here. There aren’t many cities or towns that lay between here and Erebor - I doubt many of us will want to dally.”

Thorin gazed at him, unease still written over his features but he inclined his head in acquiesce nonetheless. “Aye,” he murmured, as if to himself, then louder, “Aye. We will have to cover more ground each day to ensure we arrive with enough time to look for the door. I do not know how long it will take to find it.”

“I will be able to help in that matter,” Gandalf supplied, nodding at Thorin. Bilbo read the runes twice more aloud before he folded the map and handed it over to the wizard for safekeeping; Thorin did not protest.

“Well. That’s settled then,” Bilbo sighed, looking between the dwarves and Gandalf. “I suppose we’ll be setting off first thing, then?”

Gandalf nodded. “I think that would be for the best,” he replied with amusement Bilbo doubted the others could hear. As if they would linger with this news - Thorin was going to push them until they were miserable and they would not be able to relax again until Erebor, the hobbit had no doubt about that.

“Aye,” Thorin said, lifting his hand and resting it on Bilbo’s shoulder, squeezing tight once, not removing it after. “Let us return to the elf home. We will have one night more of rest and the opportunity to stock up on belongings. Well done, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo smiled, feeling rather proud of himself, even if he hadn’t done much beyond study moon runes out of curiosity an Age ago. He watched as Gandalf and Balin exchanged a look that he couldn’t quite read into before the wizard was ushering them along; it was best not to stay there, just in case any elves came about. Bilbo pretended not to notice how Thorin’s hand slipped from his shoulder to his back when he began to walk and only left with a brush of fingers; with a shiver, he watched Gandalf separate from them before they reentered the library, disappearing down another path that circled it.

When they entered the library, Bilbo looked around in longing; it was one of his favorite libraries on Middle Earth and though he had already spent hours in it that day, he wished to spend more. Balin must have read it upon him, as he suggested staying while they still had time to spare - his belongings and stocks of herbs and bandages had already been readied and replenished. He happily agreed, ignoring how stormy Thorin looked for such a thing, and bid Balin a goodbye for a short while.

Bilbo expected Thorin to follow the elder dwarf but he did not and after watching him glower at two elves whispering between themselves across the library, the hobbit sighed and dragged him to a comfortable armchair. He sat him there and fetched candles, the book he had been reading earlier in the day, and another for Thorin to read, if he so chose. When the dwarf propped it open and sank more comfortably into his chair, Bilbo ducked behind his own book and hid a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -puts hands on hips and laughs toward the sky- Remember how I said five chapters. Haaah. I'm counting eight so far if I actually write what I want to... |: fml.
> 
> [My tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


	3. Chapter 3

From Rivendell, through the Misty Mountains, and finally to a lonely home against a forest and at the foot of a valley, the air began to turn crisp. Autumn had arrived and the further North they crept, the colder it became. The afternoons were still sunny and pleasantly warm but it was an unwelcome reminder that Winter approached and with it, Durin’s Day.

Their host, the skin-changer Beorn, was intimidating but helpful, so the Company could not complain. Beorn offered poultices and herbs aplenty to help with their many wounds; food, drink, and warm beds were given for comforts, far more than they had in the last few weeks. They would have no choice but to stay with the skin-changer, especially so with Thorin’s wounds; he had fallen to the Pale Orc and his warg and his pain was enough to stay their travels. The dwarf was concerned for their time but Gandalf and Balin tried to assure him that they had the time to spare for his healing.

Bilbo had fretted, wishing to take care of the king, as was in his nature, but he had let Oin do his work while he tended to the more minor wounds the rest of the Company had received. Thorin was mostly bruised but it was badly so and showed whenever the dwarf wandered for too long; his winces of pain tugged at Bilbo’s heartstrings, which bothered him quite a lot. He was normally removed when it came to healing as it helped him keep a clear enough head for it and he hadn’t a clue why Thorin’s pain unsettled him so much. Perhaps because he was at the core of their Quest - without Thorin, they all might be going home.

On their second day at the large house filled with animals that were too intelligent for their own good, Bilbo sat at the massive table, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He was tending to Bifur’s bandages; the dwarf had been cut with a dagger on his upper arm and it had bled throughout the night. He hadn’t made mention of it until after breakfast, which earned him a good scolding from the hobbit. Dwarves were nearly as particular about when they ate as hobbits, if they had the opportunity to be.

Bofur sat across from them, chattering on with his cousin, likely to keep his mind from the pain. Bilbo didn’t think that Bifur was quite as prone to it as all that as the dwarf hardly winced through anything at all.

He wound the bandages around Bifur’s arm, listening to him growl out Khuzdul - something about one of the sheep waking him that morning that Bilbo most definitely could not understand, thank you very much - and Bofur laughed in response. He smiled a little to himself as he taped the bandage down, sitting back with a small sigh.

“You’re done,” he informed Bifur, who signed what Bilbo thought was a thank you of some kind. He didn’t know Iglishmêk as he never had the opportunity to study it - he had dealings with dwarves on many occasions but they would never divulge their sign language to him. He just happened to have a way with spoken languages of all sorts and knew a good handful of them.

“I have to say, Bilbo, ye’ve got a way with healing,” Bofur commented, lifting his leg to rest his boot on the bench. He hiked up his trousers and looked at the minor scrapes and bruises on his shin. “Don’t think I’ve ever mended so quick before. I suppose there is somethin’ to be said about Shire-folk and their ways with things that grow.” He grinned in appreciation.

Bilbo smiled. “Maybe there is. There are more plants and herbs to be had away from the Mountains, however, so it doesn’t surprise me all that much,” he replied, standing and moving to the washbasin to clean his hands. “I was lucky to be able to replenish my stores in Rivendell though Oin should have everything I do now. I can say with certainty that I won’t be saving any of you from being burned to a crisp when that time comes.”

“So cynical!” Bofur cried, though he was still grinning. “Aye, aye, we likely won’t come back from that, if it happens. Hopefully it doesn’t. What was it that Ori said? Dwarvish iron right up his-”

“Yes, I remember quite well, thank you,” Bilbo said, shaking his head fondly. “I suppose that’s a little bit of spirit we can all use before we get to Erebor.”

“Most of all you,” Bofur replied, snickering as Bilbo side-eyed him. “Ye’ve done well, for someone so wishin’ to be back in the Shire. Got a way to go yet. That forest, I’m not lookin’ for forward to it! Beorn was goin’ on about it being cursed; think it’s about time some luck starts _coming_ our way.”

 _“Luck has been against us since we left Ered Luin,”_ Bifur grunted - at least Bilbo was fairly sure that was what he said.

Bofur nodded solemnly. “Aye, it has,” he sighed, looking at Bilbo. “Says luck has been against us. We’re lucky we got out of the fight with the orcs with so little damage. Our king besides.” He nodded across the room and Bilbo followed his gaze, spying Thorin standing near the fireplace, conversing with Dwalin; the hobbit frowned as he saw the dwarf’s hand resting against his side.

He chewed on his lip before he shook his head. “I’m going to go and check up on him,” he decided, huffing when Bofur snickered. “Excuse me, this entire Quest is about getting a crown on his head and he keeps walking around as stiff as can be. I think he refused anything for the pain, the stubborn goat. We’ll be here for at least two more days and he’s doing himself a disservice.” He sniffed.

“Go and speak with him. If anyone is likely to talk sense into him, it’s you,” Bofur commented, his eyes twinkling as Bilbo frowned at him. “He’s been singin’ your praises since you read that map for him! Go on, go.”

Bilbo sighed, rolling his eyes and nodding. “If he doesn’t listen to me, it’s your fault,” he said, turning his nose up and wandering away from the table. He made his way across the home, stopping at Nori’s side to ensure that the cut to his leg was doing alright; after being reassured, he continued on to the king, hovering a bit awkwardly a few feet from him. Thorin was still speaking with Dwalin but he noticed the hobbit a moment later and motioned with his head for Bilbo to come over. He gladly did so.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, roving his eyes over the king. He looked terribly tight, as if clenching himself against the pain, and Bilbo sighed for it as Dwalin snorted. The brute received a warning glare but he ignored it with practiced ease, looking at the hobbit himself.

“Oh, he’s hurting alright,” he answered for Thorin. “Barely slept last night. Kept hearing him rustle around.”

Bilbo leveled Thorin with an unimpressed gaze, noting with some amusement that he had a flush gathering over his neck, even with the severe glower for his captain. “Thorin, you need something for the pain. You were tossed about by a warg,” he chastised, resting his hands on his hips and tapping his foot against the ground. Dwalin nodded in a mockingly serious fashion. “We’ll be resting here for a while yet and it’ll be even longer if you don’t give yourself time to heal. We can’t travel with how you are now.”

“I’m fine,” Thorin all but growled, looking between them, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I do not need anything. Keep your stores, I will not deplete them for minor bruising.”

The hobbit gaped at him as Dwalin groaned. _“Minor bruising?”_ he spluttered, waving one of his hands. “You were in the jaws of a warg! Minor bruising my hairy feet, I saw what it looked like when Oin was taking care of you!”

Thorin only continued to glare and Bilbo squinted back at him - the king was apparently not going to respond to that. Bilbo arched his eyebrows threateningly and Thorin arched his own back - the only thing for it then. The hobbit reached out and jabbed Thorin in the ribs, receiving a yelp in reply. The king’s hand flew to his side again and he stared at Bilbo with his jaw hanging open, looking rather betrayed and somewhat incensed by his nerve. Dwalin barked out a laugh.

“Let him give you some medicine, you right fool,” the captain said, smirking as Thorin snarled something unsavory back at him. “Aye, never knew you to be _this_ big of a fool. You want to move along, don’t you?”

Bilbo watched the precise moment Thorin caved. The king rubbed gingerly at his ribs and let out a long, slow sigh through his nose, turning his hard stare onto the hobbit. “Come along then, Master Baggins, fetch me something for the pain,” he growled. “Before I label Dwalin and yourself traitors.”

“And lose two out of the only four that have any sense around here?” Bilbo asked, rolling his eyes and waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll be right back. Perhaps Dwalin can keep you from skulking away, hmm?” He looked at the dwarf, who smirked again, looking all too happy about it. When Bilbo turned away, he heard a loud smack, followed by a grunt, and figured Dwalin had gotten a punch to his arm for his betrayals.

The hobbit made his way to his pack on the other side of the home and fetched his healing supplies. He hefted the pack over his shoulder and hurried back before Thorin _could_ actually go and hide, but the king was still where he left him. Bilbo asked him to accompany him outside and while Thorin looked suspicious, he followed nonetheless. In the flower garden was a large bench and Bilbo led the dwarf to it, gesturing for him to sit down, which he did with a wince he failed terribly at keeping to himself.

“See now, look at you,” Bilbo said, sighing as Thorin sent him a flat look. He thought that they were perhaps equally unimpressed with each other at that moment. “There’s no need to put yourself through this because you think we might run out of supplies. You’re their king. They want you healthy when you take your throne, you know.” He clambered onto the bench and set his pack on his lap, opening it and fishing out a vial.

“I am their leader,” Thorin muttered. “I am responsible for them on this journey and I do not wish to take any unnecessary supplies when we may need them later on. I have been injured before, Master Baggins, and worse than this. I survived.”

Bilbo sighed. “It’s not about surviving, you ridiculous dwarf, it’s about not being in such pain,” he mumbled, pulling out a water skin and tin cup. He poured water into it and opened the vial, measuring out about three drops worth of a potent brew of willow bark. He mixed them together and handed the cup to Thorin, who begrudgingly took it and swallowed it down. When he handed it back, he looked decidedly grumpy and Bilbo smiled to himself, fetching a small rag to dry the cup.

“They would sacrifice quite a lot themselves to not see you like this. They don’t want it to be the other way around. How were the cuts on your arm faring this morning when Oin checked the bandages?”

Thorin leaned back against the bench with a low grumble, peering at Bilbo. “They were well enough. He does not think they will become infected,” he answered, lifting his forearm, though his bandages were hidden under his tunic. The only thing Oin had been able to convince the dwarf of was to not wear his heavy mail so he didn’t have that discomfort piled onto him as well.

“Good,” Bilbo said, nodding and eyeing the king’s arm as he dropped it back down to rest on his thigh. He was itching to get a look at his injuries himself but he knew he had to trust Oin’s abilities - the old healer was more than capable. Thorin snorted and he snapped his eyes back to him, arching his brow.

“Do you wish to see my arm, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked, reading him far too well. Bilbo mumbled a ‘no’ and put his supplies back in his pack; when Thorin began to move about, he looked up to see the king pulling his loose tunic up and past his elbow.

Bilbo floundered. “Oh- you don’t have to, I’m being silly. Oin put fresh bandages on only a few hours ago, I wouldn’t want…” he trailed off, sighing a bit as Thorin silenced him with an amused look. “Well. Alright.”

Thorin chuckled as he gently took the tape on the corner of his bandages, peeling it up and allowing Bilbo to look at the two gashes that had been stitched together; three on the smaller one and five on the larger. They were red and a bit puffy from being inflamed - the medicine would help there - but not enough to worry over. He took Thorin’s arm and turned it more to his liking, humming to himself; they would scar unless he did something about it. The dwarf already had numerous white lines covering most of his upper body, from the bit of it Bilbo had gotten a look at.

He brushed his fingers along either side of the stitching on both and murmured lightly to himself, feeling Thorin’s eyes on him and ignoring it as best he could. A familiar tingling gathered in the tips of his fingers and he dragged them along Thorin’s arm, brushing slowly around both of the wounds.

“Is this hobbit magic?” Thorin inquired, mirth in his voice. Bilbo squeezed his hand in reply, a silent order to shush, and continued whispering words he had said so many, many times in his life.

He finished a moment later and nodded satisfactorily, looking back up at the king. “There,” he announced, “that should help. Encourages healing. A hobbit blessing, if you must know, and I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of it.” He sniffed pointedly as Thorin smiled at him.

“Then I should be honored?”

“Very much so,” Bilbo answered gravely, pushing his pack down the bench and settling back against it himself. “When you can’t find a scar, you can thank me.”

Thorin chuckled, rolling his sleeve back down. “I will thank you now,” he said, watching Bilbo closely enough that the hobbit had to avert his gaze to the garden around them. “Ah, that reminds me. I have something for you though it is inside. Will you wait here a moment?”

Bilbo blinked, raising his eyebrows in surprise as he looked back to the dwarf. “You have something for me?” he repeated. “Err, well. Of course. What is it?”

The king snorted as he stood. “Wait a moment and you will see,” he replied drily. Bilbo huffed at him but watched him go back to the skin-changer’s home nonetheless. He was walking slowly and favoring his left side but the hobbit knew soon the pain would be lessened - and the dwarf a little sleepy.

He smiled to himself, clasping his hands together between his knees, swinging his legs. The bench was much too big for his feet to reach the ground. Bilbo swiveled his head back and forth, looking at the array of white, pink, and purple flowers that were near to him. Beorn’s bees, as big as his fist, were buzzing lazily around and he felt more content than he had even in Rivendell. Except for in the library, of course. He was grown in a garden of sorts and he felt at home near to nature as he was then - digging his hands and feet into soil was one of the most comforting things he could do and he rather wished to do it while they were there.

But Thorin was true to his word and appeared at the door a moment later, walking through it and wincing at the steps as he descended them. Bilbo came out of his musings, watching him with a pained sigh of his own. Whatever the dwarf had for him was not in his hands and the hobbit could not help but feel nervous; what on earth could Thorin wish to give him? He hoped it was not herbs or anything to do with healing, even if it was perhaps a bit selfish.

When Thorin reached him again, he sat down on the bench with care, letting out a relieved grunt when he was finally able to lean back. He glanced sidelong at Bilbo and gave a rueful smile. “Did you not give me something for pain?” he asked.

“Oh, I did. It’ll work, you’ll see. Soon enough and you’ll want to take a proper nap,” Bilbo warned him, sitting up a little straighter as Thorin reached into his tunic.

The dwarf produced his pipe - and another. Bilbo blinked at the long-stemmed thing, dark in color and polished to a lovely sheen; it took him a moment to realize Thorin was handing it to him and he took it like one might take a day old infant. “A pipe?” he asked dumbly, turning it over in his hands. He looked at Thorin again and frowned at the clear hesitation in the dwarf’s eyes. “Where on earth did you get this?”

Thorin stared at him for a long enough moment that Bilbo wondered if he might have spoken a different language. Finally, the dwarf sighed. “I made it,” he said a bit gruffly. “You have mentioned on more than one occasion that you do not have a pipe still. For all you have done for me- for us, I… made it. For you.” He dove his hand back into his tunic and produced his familiar pack of pipeweed, holding it out.

Bilbo blinked down at it, his mind an utterly blank canvas. “You- you made me a pipe?” he asked in a hushed tone, looking down at the pipe again. It was simplistic but made with a skill he didn’t know the king possessed - and when had he made it? It would have taken time, especially so on the Road, and he had not seen Thorin whittling, not once. He felt his jaw hanging slack and clicked it shut, his heart beating rather frantically in his throat. His palms were sweaty and he attempted to brush his free hand off on his thigh without making a show of it.

“I- I didn’t know you could make pipes. Er, whittle. Carve,” Bilbo managed, wincing as Thorin’s eyebrows arched. “I mean. Goodness. It’s, ah, well. It’s very- er, _thank you._ Thank you! Yes, thank you. Very much. Um, I have certainly been… craving a pipe. Yes, I suppose I may have complained quite a lot about it.” He ducked his head to get away from Thorin’s gaze, twisting the pipe in his hands, noticing a small rune on the front of the bowl. He blinked quickly at it, wondering why his eyes stung.

“Friend,” Thorin murmured. When Bilbo looked back to him, the dwarf held his gaze for only a moment before he dropped it to his own pipe. “Though I am sure you knew that.”

Bilbo didn’t know if he meant the rune or the fact that he considered them friends. “It’s lovely,” he said sincerely, smiling as blue eyes met his again, ignoring his slightly hoarse voice. “I mean it. It really is. I don’t know when you managed to do this but I wouldn’t have expected you could. Er, not that you _couldn’t,_ but rather… on the Road, I mean.”

“It is not one of my greater skills,” Thorin admitted. “But it was simple enough to do. There are many nights that I have trouble sleeping and it helped to keep my mind occupied. Would you like the leaf?” He held the pack up again and instead of staring in shock at it, Bilbo hastily took it from him, nodding.

“Yes, thank you,” he answered, opening it and fetching a small amount of pipeweed out to pack it. When he handed it back to Thorin, the dwarf did the same for his own pipe, then produced a match, striking it. He lit both pipes and Bilbo hummed in appreciation, beginning to puff on it. Dwarven pipeweed was harsh stuff but right then, it tasted just right. “Oh, that is quite nice. I am going to savor this, believe you me.” He grinned properly as he held the pipe out and admired it; he would keep it close to his heart for more than one reason.

Thorin appeared pleased when Bilbo glanced at him again. “Good,” he murmured, lifting his own pipe to his lips, locking them around it.

Bilbo had to look away from that sight and glanced up at the clear blue sky, clearing his throat and kicking his legs. They lapsed into silence that was not altogether comfortable but close enough to it for the hobbit to feel his shoulders relax. Being around Thorin seemed to either put him into distress or contentment and… he’d rather not look at it any further than that, thank you very much.

He kept his eyes firmly rooted away from the king and inspected his surroundings, the longing to dig his heels into soil slowly growing. With a sigh, he decided to brave looking at Thorin - he regretted it. The dwarf was slouching against the back of the bench, smoke billowing gracefully from his mouth, his eyes hooded, as if he were at ease enough to start dozing right there. When his pipe loosened a little in his grip, Bilbo feared he might do just that and reached over, pressing his fingers against Thorin’s wrist.

The dwarf blinked his eyes twice and looked at Bilbo, a small smile on his lips. “I believe that you did give me something for the pain,” he conceded, drawing a chuckle from the hobbit.

“I told you so,” Bilbo said, nodding, finishing his bowl with one last puff. He sighed out the smoke and slipped from the bench with a little more wriggling than he would have liked. When he looked to Thorin, he thought he appeared mildly displeased, and snorted. “I’m going to go to the vegetable garden. Beorn said he trusts me to do a bit of weeding and if I were not so confident in my skills, I’d be terrified to actually touch anything. Would you like to come with me?”

Thorin seemed to weigh his choices, his eyes sliding from Bilbo to the home, then back again. “Aye,” he decided, pushing himself gingerly from the bench and stretching his arms above his head. Bilbo found the sky interesting again. “The skin-changer seems to have taken a liking to you-”

“Do not dare say it-”

“Little bunny,” Thorin finished, grinning unashamedly as Bilbo groaned. “I do not see what is wrong with it. It is fitting enough.”

“I’m not a rabbit,” Bilbo scoffed indignantly. “And I’m a perfectly respectable size when it comes to hobbits.” He squinted as Thorin chuckled at him before he turned and began to march toward Beorn’s garden, grumbling to himself. The king followed at a more sedate pace, seeming content enough to gaze around as he did so; Bilbo was somewhat surprised to see appreciation in his eyes. Dwarves so rarely seemed to appreciate the beauty of anything outside of a Mountain.

They ambled into the garden together and Bilbo shrugged out of his waistcoat, allowing his braces to hang loosely at his sides. He set his pipe down with some reverence on his clothing before he turned to the large vegetable patches; butternut squash and carrots were close to each other and certainly needed some pruning. He rubbed his hands together, looking around to Thorin, who had decided to sit down on the ground just outside of the garden, in the soft grass. He was watching Bilbo with a slightly amused expression but his half-closed eyes were telling enough. At least he was not in so much pain anymore.

Bilbo turned back to the garden and gladly dove into the soil, beginning to attack weeds by their roots. The coolness of the soil and its rich, earthy smell seeped straight into his bones and warmth blossomed in his chest; he would have been happy enough to stay in that very spot for a week. If they didn’t have Durin’s Day to worry over, he would have attempted to convince Thorin to do just that.

Weeds were vanquished and Bilbo moved to tend to the cabbages and cauliflower, humming a tune to himself. The sun slowly crept across the sky as midday came and passed. He was only brought of his reverie by a soft, rumbling noise and blinked, turning to look across the garden at Thorin. The king was flat on his back, his mouth open a little, and lightly snoring.

The hobbit watched him for a long moment, his heart beating a staccato rhythm in his chest and at his throat and in his fingertips. He smiled; medicine or no, Thorin would not be asleep there if he didn’t feel at least a bit comfortable and the idea that the king might have been that way around _him_ warmed him straight to his toes. Bilbo stared for longer than was surely proper before he forced himself back to the garden and to his song, listening to Thorin’s snoring all the while and pretending he didn’t enjoy it as much as he did.

——

Bilbo did not wish to leave Beorn’s home when the time came for it. He had been ankle-deep in soil when not smoking and chattering with the king and his dwarves; it had been so serene and he did not wish to part from it. The warnings the skin-changer gave them for _Mirkwood_ set his teeth on edge; the last time he had been in the Forest - the Greenwood then - it had been healthy and lacking in orcs and other foul creatures. It seemed a poor substitute for Beorn’s warm hearth and honey cakes.

But they did leave the safety of his lands and travel the short distance to the edge of Mirkwood’s Forests. When Gandalf decided to leave them there, with a promise to return, the hobbit had been rather livid. He was expected to ‘protect’ the dwarves underneath the menacing trees but he could not protect them the way a wizard could. He attempted to argue passionately but when Gandalf pulled him aside and murmured that he needed to investigate the Forest further South - and why - the hobbit begrudgingly wished him well and bid him goodbye.

The Company set off on the Path with warnings from Gandalf and in his heart, Bilbo knew it would not go according to plan. He had not used the less-traveled Path - he had always used the main Road of travel. The Forest was very old and very deep and he could read the diseased state of it just by being a hobbit; choosing a perilous way through seemed a dear mistake but he would follow Gandalf’s wishes.

It did not go according to plan.

They managed to stay on the path for a week before it broke and was lost. The forest was thick with enchantments and Bilbo was the only one unaffected by it, which made it all the worse for him; he could not get the dwarves to listen to him. They saw things that were not there and became more hostile the longer they went on. Bilbo at least had a sense of direction since he still had his head and attempted to keep them true to the East but when another week went by and their food was nearly gone, he began to worry for their lives. If the Forest did not kill them, starvation would.

When they were halfway through another week and attacked by spiders, the elves coming to their rescue were a blessing. Sadly, Bilbo was captured by a spider and no one seemed to see him or hear him crying out for help. But he had lived for too long to be eaten and used his ‘letter opener’ of a sword to stab the beast and free himself. By the time he had found the trail the Company had been led down by an elven guard, they were gone and he had to track them, frightened and entirely bothered.

He nearly caught up to them when Thranduil’s kingdom came into view; he burst onto the path leading to the stone bridge, at the end of which were two massive doors into the realm. They were closing when he began to run down the bridge and had to come to an abrupt halt when the guards posted there put him on the end of their bows. As if he could do anything, covered in spider web and grime and bits of leaves!

He held his hands up in surrender and the elves marched to him; the brunet-haired guard on his left faltered.

“Bilbo Baggins?” he asked, squinting past the Forest Bilbo was carrying on his person.

The hobbit sighed. “Yes. Hello, dear Rínor,” he greeted somewhat crossly. “You are looking well.”

“And you are not, my friend,” Rínor replied, his eyes beginning to twinkle. “Do not tell me you were accompanying the dwarves through our Forests.”

“I was doing just that, thank you very much, and you lot left me behind,” Bilbo declared, pointing at the doors behind the wood elves. “And I should very much like to catch up to my friends, if you please. We’ve been lost for two weeks and we’re all half dead and I have a feeling that king of yours is not going to react well to Thorin Oakenshield. And I am absolutely _certain_ that dwarf is not reacting well already.” He glowered at the elves when they exchanged a glance.

Rínor sighed, lifting his hand and pressing it to his brow, inclining his head. “Very well,” he replied, turning and motioning for Bilbo to follow. The elf guard walked briskly enough for him to scamper at his side but in this case, he appreciated it; he wished to join the Company as soon as possible. “Why are you with the dwarf so far in the East, _mellon?”_

Bilbo huffed. “It’s not my place to say,” he answered, glancing sidelong up at the elf. Rínor had been on Thranduil’s guard for nearly as long as he had known the elf - which was a rather long time. “I’ll leave that for Thorin as the leader of our Company. Did you lot put my friends in binds?”

The elf had the sense to look a little sheepish. “They were trespassing,” he pointed out as the doors opened to grant them passage inside. The kingdom was dark compared to the Forest and it took a moment for Bilbo’s eyes to adjust. “We have orders to detain any that trespass these days; when the spiders and orcs came, my king chose to trust few.”

“I’m sure,” Bilbo muttered, scratching his head, blinking as he felt a twig in his hair. He pulled it out, tossing it aside, and let out a long sigh. “I don’t care what your king has to say about it, I’m eating you all out of house and home while I’m here.”

“You always do,” Rínor laughed, smiling down at the hobbit. “We expect nothing else from you when you come to visit though it has been long since you were last here. Do you still write to my king?”

“Sometimes,” Bilbo answered, shrugging a shoulder. “Though it has been a while, I’ll admit.” He straightened himself out some as he was led through the familiar kingdom made of stone and tree. They walked along numerous different bridges and it was not long before he began to hear the Company in the direction of the throne. Thranduil was likely taunting them like the arse he could sometimes be and when Bilbo caught a wince from Rínor he thought it might have been more frequent nowadays.

They both winced when a familiar dwarf king snarled something foul and it echoed a good long distance.

Finally they ascended the bridge that led to Thranduil’s throne and Bilbo was greeted to the sight of his friends, their wrists in binds, arguing with an elf guard; they seemed to be trying to herd the Company away again though they froze when they caught sight of Bilbo and Rínor. The hobbit stuck his nose in the air and stomped forward, ignoring the cheer that suddenly went through the Company when they too saw him. He spared a small smile that was more a grimace for Thorin when the dwarf shuffled closer to him, visibly concerned.

Bilbo turned his eyes to the great elf king, dressed in green robes inlaid with silver stitching, sitting on his throne, oozing scorn. Thranduil’s blue eyes found him and the hobbit had the satisfaction of watching them widen in surprise before the elf stood. He descended the steps from his throne and walked to Bilbo, his eyes roving over his decidedly unkempt appearance.

 _“What has happened to you?”_ Thranduil asked by way of greeting and Bilbo squinted up at him.

“Did you ask them that?” he demanded, thrusting his finger toward his friends. The elf huffed out a sigh, opening his mouth to speak before he shut it when faced with the glower the hobbit was leveling him with. “Can you please remove their binds?”

Thranduil appeared as if he very much did not wish to do that but he conceded, looking to his guards and nodding gracefully. They began to remove the elvish ropes on each of the dwarves’ hands and Bilbo tried not to shudder at the suspicious glares aimed his way. “I did not know you accompanied Thorin Oakenshield,” the elf murmured, sliding his eyes back down to Bilbo, his brow arching. “I believe now that my suspicions for his reasons to travel here are founded.”

Bilbo sighed, looking at Thorin, wrinkling his nose as the dwarf pushed past the guard once his hands were unbound, stomping to him. “Are you alright?” the hobbit asked softly.

“I am wondering how you know this elf,” Thorin all but snarled. “You neglected to mention that you came here in your many travels. Explain this to me.”

The hobbit rocked back on his heels, dearly wishing Gandalf was around to save him - not that they’d be in that situation if the blasted wizard had stayed with them. Bilbo pursed his lips as he looked between the Company and elves; all eyes were on him and he shifted uneasily under the scrutiny before nodding. “Yes, alright,” he muttered, already beginning to condense the history he had with the wood elves in his mind. He only hoped that Thranduil played along - now was not the time for lengthy explanations of his _own_ history.  
  
That would surely come later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are life! Let me know what you think.
> 
> [My tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


	4. Chapter 4

“To be fair, we weren’t supposed to end up here. And we never really had cause to talk about this place.”

Bilbo cleared his throat against the displeased gaze of a dwarf king.

“You knew of our history with this traitor,” Thorin growled back, both ignoring Thranduil arching up and bristling next to them. “You knew that he is one of the reasons we are not still in Erebor and yet you did not speak on your… _friendship.”_ He spat the word out harshly enough that Bilbo flinched.

The hobbit sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and rocking up on his toes. They had moved to a wide balcony just off of the throne’s platform and most of the Company were standing huddled together, muttering Khuzdul in hushed tones, too low for Bilbo to make out any words. Two guards were still standing near to them but the elf king, Thorin, and Bilbo had moved away a little for at least some semblance of privacy. Bilbo wondered if he would be able to soothe the ache he had caused though he certainly never thought his familiarity with the Woodland elves would have ever come into light.

“I told you once that I traveled to many places. I’ve been to most corners of Middle Earth and I was bound to meet many different people,” Bilbo said gently. “I met Thranduil many moons ago. I didn’t know what came to pass between your people until very recently, however, and I don’t wish to get involved with your grudges, founded or not.” He held his hand up between both of them, shaking his head, narrowing his eyes at their equally stubborn resolve. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that we were friends, Thorin. Maybe I knew that you would not take the news well.”

Thorin sneered at him. “You would be correct in thinking that,” he replied, crossing his own arms and tipping his head back. He spared a short glance to the elf king before returning his gaze to Bilbo. “There is more to you than you have admitted to us. Most do not travel this world to the extent that you have.”

“Master Baggins is an exceptional healer,” Thranduil interjected, his deep voice somewhat defensive on Bilbo’s behalf. “He has traveled to offer aid to many different realms and he has learned much from each he has been to. To devote himself to such a cause is admirable and shows his character.”

Bilbo worried at his lip; Thorin was beginning to look more angry by the moment and he wished to staunch the wound, so to speak. “I wouldn’t be the healer I am today had I not traveled,” Bilbo agreed, taking a step closer to the dwarf. “I came here with Gandalf a long while ago and stayed for nearly two months. He had gone off to do wizardly business and it was winter, so I had to wait for it to pass before traveling again. When you told me your, er, thoughts, on this place and the king, I thought it best to keep it to myself.”

“Aye. Omitting the truth must have seemed the wisest course,” Thorin said, his derision dripping like thick dollops of honey. “I should be concerned, Master Baggins, that you feel it more pertinent to keep the truth from me rather than trusting me with it. You have known the story of the day Smaug came for weeks now and you knew we approached this accursed Forest. Still you kept the truth from me.”

“Oh because it would have gone so well if I told you that I once stayed here and actually considered the king a friend. I am sure your _trust_ wouldn’t have been hampered then at all,” Bilbo snapped back, unable to stop the scorn in his own voice. Thorin’s face twisted dangerously but Bilbo did not care. “I am _sure_ you would have stopped speaking ill of my friend and that you wouldn’t have tried to change my opinion on him at all-”

“Do not speak as if you know how I would have reacted,” Thorin snarled, stepping close enough to loom over the hobbit. “We cannot know because you chose not to speak of this and now I must learn of it when he is swayed by his _friendship_ with my burglar. I trust _you_ and I thought we had a friendship worthy of honesty; do you think that would not have mattered?”

Bilbo scowled. “No, I really don’t,” he declared, standing straighter while Thorin seemed to hunch over in his frustration. “You questioned and lectured me on elves in Rivendell and you had no business with them before! They are my friends as well and you saw fit to remind me how terrible they were more than once, which was quite rude! No, I think the news of my friendship with the elves of the Greenwood would have actually been quite a bit _worse.”_

A noise tore through Thorin’s throat, akin to a growling warg and Bilbo nearly took a step back from him. “I deserved to know that you held a friendship with the traitor that saw my people _die_ rather than offer _aid_ to them,” he hissed, his hands tightening into white-knuckled fists at his side.

The hobbit glanced sidelong at Thranduil, who was staring with a face made of stone, but his eyes were ablaze with ill-concealed anger. Bilbo sighed, looking back to Thorin, who seemed to be quivering against his own rage. “Thorin, I- well,” he managed, clearing his throat, “I was not there that day so I can’t-”

“You know the story,” Thorin interrupted, raising his voice, his eyes now locked onto the elf king.

“Well, I know most of it, perhaps, but then there are always two-”

“I would not have risked the lives of elves against the wroth of the dragon,” Thranduil interjected firmly, his shoulders squared. “And I could not have predicted the fate that would befall your people once you had fled from the Mountain.”

It was the wrong thing to say, Bilbo could see. Thorin did not grow more livid; his outward anger visibly bled from him and his posture became more relaxed while his face slackened. The hobbit shuddered when a small smile graced his lips - it was far worse than being on the receiving end of his ire, in Bilbo’s opinion. When the hobbit looked to Thranduil and watched the elf stand as tall as he could, he knew that he felt it too.

“Could you not have?” Thorin asked quietly, almost thoughtfully. “Could you not see the devastation the dragon had left behind? Perhaps you could not - perhaps that was why you did not offer a single draught to those burned by dragon fire. You did not see the suffering of my people, left without food, medicine, or wealth, as Smaug sat upon it all. You must not have seen, for any kingdom that once called themselves _friend_ would have offered aid. Perhaps you could not see once you had turned your _back_ on the dwarves of Erebor before they had even finished fleeing from the dragon’s _wroth.”_

Bilbo wrung his hands fitfully together, looking between the two kings. Against such words and what he had heard when they were at Beorn’s home, he wondered what had gone through Thranduil’s mind, to do what he had done. They were not the actions of the friend he knew and he looked at the elf with a growing frown. As a neighboring kingdom with peace treaties and ongoing trade with Erebor, he had an obligation to offer aid to the dwarves when the dragon came; he was at fault for much of the suffering that they had endured. Bilbo could see no other explanation for it.

The elf was silent for a long moment, staring down at the dwarf, his face impassive. “I warned your grandfather what his greed would bring,” he finally murmured, his tone icy and low, “but he did not listen. The dragon came, as I had predicted, and I was expected to shelter the dwarves that coveted gold above their own lives?”

“The fault of Thror was not the fault of my _people,”_ Thorin said, his deep voice carrying, old hurt laced in it. “You know nothing of the battle we were already fighting inside the Mountain but my people were not to blame.”

Thranduil lightly shook his head. “We will speak no more of this,” he announced, holding his hand up for silence when Thorin huffed out a short laugh and Bilbo opened his mouth to speak. “I will _hear_ no more of this. That day has long since passed. You will stay this night but you must leave on the morrow. I will not house dwarves who wish to wake the dragon.”

Bilbo watched as the elf king spun on his heel and began to march off, barking to his guards in Sindarin. He ordered the Company to be fed and offered comforts for the night, as well as their supplies to be replenished. The hobbit did not understand this hospitality compared to his words but he was glad for it either way. He watched Thranduil disappear, two guards following him, before he turned to look at Thorin.

The dwarf appeared weary suddenly, his eyes bagged, his cheeks gaunt from the little food they had had in the last few weeks. Blue eyes slid to Bilbo’s and the hobbit felt his heart clench; _do you see now?_

Unfortunately he did. Bilbo watched Thorin turn and rejoin the Company, who had watched the argument with a careful and somber eye. The elves there informed them of the orders they had and no gratitude was offered in return; instead, a subdued Company followed the elves when they began to lead them away and none looked back to the hobbit. Bilbo felt another pang in his chest and looked to Rínor when he approached him, offering a slight grimace.

The elf was more successful in his answering smile, though it was sorrowful. “Will you not join them?” Rínor asked quietly, resting his hand on the hobbit’s shoulder.

“I would not be surprised if they hardly missed me,” Bilbo answered, watching the Company as they were led from the throne and down through the kingdom, off to their accommodations. “I didn’t think much of not telling Thorin about my time here but now I see I’ve made quite the mistake in not doing so.”

“You are not telling them many things about yourself,” Rínor commented. He smiled at the reproachful stare Bilbo gave him. “I do not mean to judge. Some things are better left unsaid; if you do not wish to tell them of yourself, there are many things you might omit of your history. It only makes sense but perhaps the dwarf’s words also held some truth. I do not think he would have cast you aside had he known of your friendship with my kind… nor do I think he would cast you aside if he knew more. Dwarves are proud and stubborn but this one seems to enjoy _his_ burglar’s friendship and the idea of his confidence.”

Bilbo sputtered a bit, heat coming to his cheeks, no matter how hard he fought it. “I’m not his in any sort of way. I only signed a contract,” he argued uselessly, knowing full well Thorin had called him so. Rínor only smiled widely at him and Bilbo sighed, hunching his shoulders. “Do you know what, I think I’d like a bath and all seven of my meals as soon as possible.”

“We will feed you a dozen meals,” Rínor laughed, steering Bilbo around, beginning to march him the same way the dwarves had gone. “You are in dire need of it after your time spent in our Forests. Food is being prepared now but first I will show you to your rooms. I know that my king will give you those that you have always had; we keep them free for you, even if it is hundreds of years between your visits.” He smiled, mischief dancing in his eyes as Bilbo glanced sidelong at him.

The hobbit nodded. “Well. Thank you, I suppose, that’ll be quite nice. I hope it’s not too far removed from what you’ll give the others, though, I’d hate to make this worse by separating myself from them. I think I’ll have some damage to repair today,” he mumbled sullenly. He perked up after a moment. “Though perhaps when we all have food in our bellies, it’ll be easier to do so.”

Rínor smiled. “I know that you are more agreeable when you do,” he teased, earning himself an eye-roll. “The dwarves will not be far from you, _mellon nin.”_

And with that, the elf led him through the winding paths and bridges that made the great kingdom. The open air eventually turned into cream-colored halls lined with polished wood and limestone. Bilbo had nearly forgotten the beauty of the realm and ran his hand along rich carvings of curved designs through every surface, ignoring his companion’s amusement from it; perhaps he _had_ been settled in the Shire for too long. He had always loved to travel and the routine back home had grown comfortable but now that he was in comfort of a different type, he realized how much he missed it.

He would not admit that to Gandalf, however.

Soon Rínor led him to his old rooms so he could drop his belongings off and attempt to rid himself of the worst of their travels. Bilbo was quite exhausted but his hunger was greater and he gladly followed the elf when he led him from the rooms - the Company was not far ahead of him now, after being allowed to do the same. He still hung back from the suspicious rabble of dwarves though he did not miss a few looks sent his way; Thorin’s single glance and proceeding glare was enough to dampen his spirits further but he still vowed that he would make things right. He would not leave the Greenwood until Thorin Oakenshield trusted him again; if that involved omitting further truths, well then… so be it.

The Company and Bilbo were led to a magnificent dining hall, as large as Beorn’s home, adorned with three long tables, the wood stained dark. They favored benches instead of chairs and already they were set for supper; Bilbo did not dare take his place near Thorin, as he normally would have liked to, nor did he sit next to any of the dwarves. He took his place at the end of the second table with Rínor and not long after he sat, servants came into the hall bearing platters of food. Many salad bowls were set on the tables and were of course completely wasted, but the heaping piles of smoked and roasted venison and boar sausages were appreciated. Potatoes and herb-covered tomatoes and squashes were served as sides, along with crunchy brown bread and creamy butter.

Bilbo had to refrain from clapping his hands in delight but Rínor must have suspected the urge as he laughed his tinkling laugh and beamed at the hobbit. Bilbo steadfastly ignored him (besides the tossing of a piece of bread to which the elf expertly caught and proceeded to butter) and piled as much food as was possible on his plate.

The hobbit ate his first plate in relative silence, listening with some pain to his companions’ growing merriment. They were emptying multiple bottles of wine but he only drank water with lemon, trying to ignore his longing to be with them - he was glad enough that their spirits were on the rise again.

“They will forgive you,” Rínor commented suddenly, peering at Bilbo from over his own goblet, his eyes alight. “They already look at you with regret in their eyes.”

“Are you sure it’s not regret for having me along to begin with?” Bilbo asked drily, beginning to load his second plate up with food, his stomach still gurgling and begging for it.

The corners of Rínor’s mouth turned up and he shook his head. “Oh, no. The dwarf king in particular wishes for your company. He does not hide it well,” the elf said, his tone light and teasing. It had its desired effect of turning Bilbo a fine shade of crimson but Rínor spoke over his stammering, “He will come to you before the meal is over.”

Bilbo grumbled. “My hairy feet he will,” he muttered, cutting into his slab of venison with vigor. He stuffed the overly large bite into his mouth and chewed moodily on it. “You’re undereshtimating the shtubbornness of dwarves. Eshpecially that one.” He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Excuse me. He’ll hate me until he’s angry with someone else and doesn’t have the energy to spare.”

Rínor narrowed his eyes, swirling his wine and leaning back, watching Bilbo with a dangerously thoughtful eye. “He will come,” he repeated, arching a fine eyebrow as Bilbo loudly snorted his opinion. “I wager three gold that he will come to you before the meal ends.”

His sputtering was not interrupted this time and Bilbo gaped. “Did you- are you- _truly?_ Oh you are just as bad as them!” he declared, shaking his head quickly, cutting his venison into more manageable-sized cubes. He chewed a bite, casting a glance toward the end of the table opposite him, where Thorin sat. Blue eyes were on him but they swiftly averted a second later and he turned back to an expectant elf, daintily clearing his throat again.  
  
“Do you know what, I’d rather not risk it.”

The elf’s carrying laugh and wide grin were not charming whatsoever. Bilbo ignored him and began to loudly discuss the goings-on in the Shire of late; Rínor allowed the change in subject and became the engaging friend that he could be in conversation for the remainder of Bilbo’s next two plates.

He was diving into a bowl of pudding with a blackberry tart on the side, complaining about the Winter of Colds that had plagued Hobbiton and depleted his many stores when he noticed Rínor’s eyes catch over his shoulder. Bilbo’s words died in his throat - the elf looked smug. He sighed, lifting his tart and taking another bite as a throat cleared just behind him. He nearly felt the warmth of the king’s body, forges that the dwarves were, and turned his nose up on the smirk Rínor was trying to hide into his wine.

Bilbo twisted around and looked at Thorin, who was glaring suspiciously at the brown-haired elf. “Er,” he managed, arching his eyebrows when Thorin looked at him, his frown turning down his brow and bringing forth the familiar wrinkle there. It was hard to tamper down the fondness that swelled in his chest at the sight but Bilbo tried valiantly. “Yes, Thorin?”

Thorin was silent for a rather long, stifling moment, looking between Bilbo and Rínor. Finally he sighed, his shoulders slumping a little, but his fists still tight at his sides. “You do not have to separate yourself from us,” the king said in a low tone, as if he meant for only Bilbo to hear. “We must speak but you are still part of my Company. That has not changed.”

The hobbit’s shoulders might have slumped at that as well. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said earnestly. “And I am sorry for that business. I’m quite alright where I am and I suspect we’ll still be enjoying many meals together between here and Erebor. Rínor is a friend and I’m glad for his company.” He offered a small smile.

Thorin did not return it. If anything, his features hardened more and he glanced at the elf with ill-disguised contempt. “Are you,” he did not ask, tipping his head back in something akin to disbelief. Bilbo frowned at him, glancing at Rínor, who was smiling as if he was not on the end of an undeserved glare, simply gazing between hobbit and dwarf.

Bilbo sighed. _“Yes,_ Thorin, I am,” he stated firmly, squinting at the king. “I’ll see you when I’m done eating, hmm? Go on and finish your own supper. Shoo.” He waved his hands at the dwarf, whose eyes softened somewhat when they fell on him.

“Unlike you, Master Baggins, I finished my meal some time ago,” he replied, his lips quirking at Bilbo’s huff. “Very well. Come to me when you are finished. We will speak then.” He lifted his hand, squeezing the hobbit’s shoulder more tightly than was surely necessary, his steely blue eyes sliding back to the elf. Something dark flashed in them but before Bilbo could scold him for his rudeness, the king turned and walked back to his seat.

When Bilbo looked back to Rínor, he scrunched up his nose in apology and the elf let out a soft breath.

“I must find a seat in front of the fire. I fear I have grown very cold,” Rínor commented with put on despair. Bilbo groaned, grabbing his tart and stuffing the rest of it into his mouth.

“Shush,” he chastised around it, rolling his eyes skyward as the elf began to laugh like a fauntling. He could feel the heaviness of Thorin’s gaze on the back of his neck but pretended he couldn’t and turned back to his pudding instead, mumbling about the ridiculousness of dwarves and elves both.

Desserts were finished in relative peace before Bilbo finally decided to pour himself a cup of sweet wine and take a short leave from his friend. He left the table and sought out Thorin, who had gone to stand by the fireplace, his hands resting over his heavy belt buckle, staring into the flames with an unreadable expression. The rest of the Company had taken to wandering the hall, laughing and conversing loudly together, their antics increasing in rambunctiousness with the more wine they ingested. Bilbo ducked as a bottle of it was thrown through the air and wandered to the fireplace to stand near Thorin.

The dwarf glanced at him before returning his gaze to the fire. “I thought you would remain by the elf’s side for the remainder of the evening,” he muttered nearly out of the corner of his mouth, sounding rather sullen at the thought.

Bilbo stared at him in exasperation. “I told you I’d come over when I was done eating! And so what if I had? Goodness, Thorin, I have friends other than you dwarves,” he admonished, his tone more whiny than he would have liked. The dwarf only grunted in an uncivilized manner at him and Bilbo took a healthy gulp of his wine.

“I suppose that’s one of the reasons why I’m over here. I’m not sorry for my choice of friends and I never will be, but I am sorry for having kept the truth of it to myself. I can see now that it was a mistake and yes, I should have trusted you with it, as- as my friend.”

“Aye, you should have,” Thorin agreed, still not looking at him. “Was the thought of my reaction that unsettling?”

Bilbo rocked back on his heels, arching his eyebrows to himself - well, Thorin wanted him to be honest. “You’re not very pleasant when you’re upset,” he said, trying to keep his tone teasing enough, even if it was plenty true. Thorin glanced askance at him and he smiled. “Though that shouldn’t have kept my mouth shut. It was rather cowardly of me and I didn’t think we’d come here, so I thought I was safe enough. Can you forgive me for it?”

Thorin finally turned to look at him, crossing his arms over his broad chest. His gaze was appraising. “I already have,” he murmured, almost too quietly for Bilbo to hear, and the hobbit found himself leaning closer to the dwarf. “I do not like that you kept the truth from me but I have been informed that your fear of my reaction was not unfounded.”

The hobbit found himself looking toward the table where Balin sat and the elder dwarf, a little red in the face, raised his goblet toward him. Bilbo cleared his throat and looked back toward Thorin. “Oh,” he managed, lifting his own cup to take another drink, ignoring the amusement beginning to shine in Thorin’s eyes. He swallowed, then coughed into his fist. “Well, er. Thank you for forgiving me.”

“Will you trust me with the truth now?” Thorin asked, lifting his hand to rest over Bilbo’s shoulder, his thumb rather dangerously close to the nape of his neck. “I do not wish for you to fear me, Bilbo, nor my reaction to anything you might tell me.”

Bilbo swallowed. Fearing Thorin’s reactions to certain information seemed a given to him and he knew that most of the Company would agree to it, but he owed Thorin the words - even if his heart was heavy with the truth he was not speaking. “Yes, of course, Thorin,” he agreed, lowering his eyes to the hearth. “I don’t fear you, you know. I just don’t enjoy arguments with you.”

Thorin squeezed his shoulder again and when his thumb swiped a half-moon over Bilbo’s neck, the hobbit had to hold in his squeak. The king removed his hand. “I thought you relished in them. It seems that way on occasion,” Thorin commented, his lips quirking when Bilbo leveled him with a flat look.

“I very much do not relish in them,” Bilbo mumbled duly, rolling his eyes and swigging his wine. “They are simply necessary.” He huffed, patting at his pockets before he sighed. “I should very much like a smoke but I seem to have left my pipe in my rooms.”

He glanced toward the open doors leading back into the kingdom, debating on if he truly wished to go all the way to his rooms to fetch his pipe. He could smoke and relax his aching shoulders with the pipe that Thorin had made for him on one hand but on the other, he had to walk quite a ways and after his feast, walking sounded like a chore. Thorin’s chuckling caught his attention and he looked expectantly at the dwarf.

“You are weighing two heavy choices,” the king teased, reaching into his tunic and producing his own pipe. “Share a smoke with me, Master Baggins.” He pulled out his bag of pipeweed and began to pack it as Bilbo watched.

And if the hobbit’s cheeks were warm, it was certainly the fault of the fire, not imagining wrapping his lips around the same stem of a pipe that Thorin did. He had done it once, he could do it again, and he could do it without thinking like a tween. Bilbo graciously accepted the proffered pipe, its leaf lit, and proceeded to cough himself silly after the first puff; Thorin’s hand pounding at and subsequently rubbing his back did not help matters.

——

Morning was met with a chaotic rush to ensure their departure - it seemed as if Thranduil was sticking to his word and wanted them out as quickly as possible. Bilbo was irritated with the elf but he didn’t know what he could say to him as the king seemed to think he had done nothing wrong. And so Bilbo avoided his friend, as much as that honestly pained him, too. Perhaps when he traveled back across Middle Earth from Erebor, he could stop in Mirkwood and speak with Thranduil.

Bilbo gathered his belongings, grateful he had been able to wash some of the grimier stains from his clothing after his late-night bath. He met the dwarves in the hall and they were escorted by four elf guards through the kingdom - the company lapsed into Khuzdul so they could insult them and Bilbo only sighed to himself, tuning them out as well as he could. Rínor had come to see him off and the cheerful elf smiled in amusement at the candor in which the dwarves spoke, different language or not.

Soon they were at the East end of the kingdom and were led to the massive stone gates there, which were already opened and showed the cobbled road leading away from the palace. The trees were turning into bright oranges, reds, and yellows, and the leaves fluttering across the stone path were a stark but beautiful contrast. Bilbo breathed in the fresh air even as he looked at the elf king - Thranduil was standing near one of the open doors and observing the Company with an utterly blank expression. His eyes lingered on Bilbo when he caught the hobbit’s gaze however and he thought he might have read some sort of sorrow there.

The Company came to a halt when Thranduil raised a hand though Thorin appeared as if he dearly wished to ignore it. “I would advise against waking the dragon but I will not be able to convince you to not do so,” the elf spoke in his deep, carrying voice. “If you are to wake him, the peril that may come to be will not be fought by elves. I fear you go to your deaths.” Here his eyes slid back to Bilbo, as if he thought he might be the only one that could also sense the truth of it but the hobbit had to hold out hope.

“Is that what you fear?” Thorin asked, not bothering to hide his scorn. “We do not require your departing words. I am glad to put this place behind us.” He turned toward the Company to no doubt bark at them to move along but Thranduil took a step closer.

“I fear that you go to your deaths but I too would see the end of the dragon, if it possible,” he spoke, his voice louder against the dwarf’s glare. Thranduil looked toward his guard and waved his hand gracefully forward. Bilbo started, finally noticing that they were carrying ornate wooden boxes in their arms and they stepped forward, opening the lids.

Bilbo stared in surprise at the numerous daggers in one box, vials and poultices in another, blankets and what looked to be a tent and its structures in the third, and in the last, mounds of lembas bread. The hobbit blinked quickly at the offering and glanced at the elf king with a frown - was this his attempt to smooth over some guilt that he had in not aiding the dwarves before?

“Do you think you can buy-”

“I wish to buy nothing,” Thranduil snapped, interrupting Thorin’s snarl. The elf’s composure slipped and his mouth twisted in annoyance. “Take these supplies or leave them, I care not, but I think your Company will appreciate their presence if you are to kill the dragon. The Mountain will be void of life but for you fourteen.”

The Company’s heads swiveled between the elf and the dwarf, some of their hands twitching with the desire to take what was being offered. Fili looked particularly intent on examining the daggers and Bilbo wondered if the young dwarf had anymore room on his person for them - perhaps some of his own had been lost in the Forest.

It was Bombur, to Bilbo’s mild shock, that stepped forward and to the box of lembas bread. He took it from the elf and set it on the ground before he hefted his pack around, opening it and beginning to make room. It seemed as if he wished to organize the food so as to not crush the elven bread and he stacked them, wrapped in thick cloth, into three neat piles, then stuffed them into his pack. When he stood again, he blinked at the stares being sent his way, then shrugged his round shoulders - they might as well take what they could get.

With murmurs, the Company surged forward and began to take the other supplies and weapons from the elves; Bilbo did not miss Rínor’s smirking nor Thorin’s sulking. He sighed to himself, looking at the elf guard as he stepped nearer to him. “Hopeless,” he muttered, shaking his head. “All of them. For once, I’m glad to put some distance between myself and your home.”

“Do not say such a thing, _mellon nin!”_ Rínor scolded, though he was still smiling brightly. “Oh how I wish I could join you! I think neither of the kings would appreciate my presence within Erebor and I must stay behind for my duties but would that I could see a dragon’s end!” He sighed wistfully even as Bilbo snorted.

“I’ll take your place if you take mine,” he offered, smiling wanly as Rínor laughed, looking worryingly like he was actually considering it. “Oh stop it now. The last thing anyone should want is to fight a dragon. I hope he’s dead but luck hasn’t been on my side these last months. I’ll likely be burned to a crisp before long.”

Rínor sighed, squeezing the hobbit’s shoulder. “How I have forgotten your dreary look on things,” he bemoaned. “I have hope in you, Bilbo, and once you have defeated the dragon, I ask that you come to visit us again. Perhaps it will be in better spirits this time.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “My king would like to speak with you, I know this. He misses your friendship.”

Bilbo lifted his hand to pat Rínor’s as he looked toward the elf king. Thranduil was watching with cool detachment as the dwarves armed themselves and stocked the offerings into their packs, his hands clasped behind his back. “I miss our friendship as well. I’ll come visit,” he promised, looking back to the elf.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin all but shouted from his place not twenty feet from the hobbit. He appeared impatient and jerked his head toward the gates; _now_ it was time to move along.

Bilbo grumbled, looking at his dear friend. “Well. Hopefully I shall see you soon,” he mumbled, hefting his pack further up on his shoulder. “Take care, Rínor.” He grimaced in place of a smile but felt the warmth from Rínor’s fond gaze.

 _“The same to you,”_ he replied, lifting his hand to press his fingers to his brow, bowing his head. _“May the blessing of the Valar be with you.”_

Bilbo nodded, taking in a steadying breath, managing a smile this time. Perhaps it would be. He turned and began to follow the Company, ignoring the scowl Thorin was leveling Rínor with. He simply marched by the dwarf, not bothering to fall into step with him as the king apparently wished; instead he quickly mustered ahead to stride side by side with Ori. A moment later Thorin stalked by him to go stand near Dwalin, with whom he could fume silently - served him right, in Bilbo’s opinion.

——

It took some hours of walking through the Forest to finally find its borders. When they left them, Erebor’s snow-capped peak was visible in the distance and the Company stopped to stare in wonder. Thorin’s sour mood dissipated and a look of pride overcame his features. He looked incredibly handsome against the bright blue sky, with soft eyes and a slight curve to his mouth - Bilbo busied himself with observing the rest of the Company.

Those that had once made Erebor their home looked as proud as Thorin and those that did not looked awed. Bilbo himself had never stepped foot into the Mountain kingdom but he wished to see what the dwarves had long since discussed - the grandness of it, he knew, would not be realized until he had seen it with his own eyes. They were not far from it now; Lake-town was still two hours or so from where they stood and they would stop there to speak more of their plans. They were four days before Durin’s Day, Bilbo was startled to realize, and he knew that Thorin would likely only wish to stay in the town of Men for one night before beginning the last trek to the Mountain. It would take another day to get there and then they would need to find the door - hopefully that would not be a difficult prospect as Gandalf had promised to be there for it.

Unease swam in Bilbo’s stomach and he glanced around the plains and rolling hills that lay before them. Gandalf had best rejoin them before Erebor or he would have words with him. The little joy he had gotten from seeing the Mountain at last faded and he sighed, looking at his companions. After a brief few words were exchanged, they set off once more, closer to Smaug with each step.

When they were but a mile away from the Forest, it happened.

“Warg scout!” Dwalin suddenly bellowed.

Icy cold dread immediately came over Bilbo and he had slipped Sting from its scabbard before his mind had truly processed it. The Company turned toward where Dwalin had faced and indeed, there was a lone warg with an orc on its back, not one hundred feet from them, and hoarse shouts left the dwarves.

They did not see they were being flanked on all sides until it was too late. A soft whistle arched through the air and Bilbo felt something nearly brush his arm; it was followed by a dull thunk and a cry as the four wargs that had come from their hiding places behind hills began to run for the dwarves. Bilbo turned toward the cry and stared at Kili, who had his hand clasped around the arrow that protruded from his abdomen. The hobbit’s heart stopped and he was not sure it would start again - the rest happened very slowly.

Fili took up his brother’s bow and loosed arrows with surprising skill, his face ashen. Danger lurked ahead and they could not be distracted while the warg riders were there - and who knew how many followed? Two orcs, including the bow master, fell to Fili’s arrows while the other two were struck down by Gloin and Thorin, their wargs easily dispatched of by the rest of the Company. The shrieks and roars carried over the hills but Bilbo barely heard them: his heart had started again and was beating frantically in his ears as he turned back to Kili.

The dwarf had fallen and his face was twisted in great pain as Fili shouted his name, collapsing on the ground next to him. Oin was soon at his side, shoving the blond away, looking at the arrow with a carefully neutral expression - it was in a bad place and the dwarf’s survival was already a diminished hope. Thorin rushed to stand behind the healer, his eyes wide and holding a fear that was terrible to look upon; he fell to his knees on the opposite side of Kili’s head, cradling it and murmuring in low Khuzdul to his nephew, while Fili looked on, stricken.

Oin pulled his pack around and quickly dug through it, fishing out a familiar blue vial, unstoppering it. He lifted it to the dwarf’s lips and said nothing as he poured a small amount in to help the pain; it would nearly be enough to send Kili into a slumber and perhaps that was why, for without Bilbo, there was very little hope.

He stepped closer. “I can heal him,” he murmured. Oin sent him a sharp, reproachful look but he did not care, and sunk to his knees beside Kili. The dwarf’s light whimpering was already dulling from the medicine - it would take some time before the arrow could finish its work. “Away, all of you. I need room.”

“Lad,” Oin snarled at him, clearly not pleased at the thought of Bilbo offering a ray of light faced with such hopelessness.

“Get out of my way,” Bilbo ordered firmly, lifting his eyes to glare at the dwarves. “And I will heal him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is kind of relaxing to write. A Dragon's Tale had me all amped up and on edge for a while even tho it was fun. lol Hope you enjoy this chapter. Comments are so appreciated!
> 
>  [My tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


	5. Chapter 5

When he had awoken, it was to a cool blanket of soil and its earthy scent filling nose and weighing in his throat. Sunlight brightened his eyelids and glowing specks floated along them until he was able to open his eyes and see the sun for the first time. Its warmth and glittering arms had reached for him and the sensation of lifting himself from the earth to be blanketed in a pleasant heat was not something he would forget. A hazy fog had lifted from him then and he remembered thinking, _here I am._

It was his first moment living, truly living. He understood it and he understood the _world_ then but he could not shake his rising panic and confusion for his mind was full of things he had not learned firsthand but rather inherited. His Maker had given him her knowledge and some of her skill but he had never felt his own skin before, so he could not be blamed for his worry. And then she had been there, with her flowing hair and honeyed voice, murmuring comforts and cleaning him with cool, refreshing water, cloaking him in robes made of moss that had little white flowers growing straight from them. His utter terror at suddenly _being_ had melted away as quickly as it came, replaced with the curiosity one might find in child; _how, why, where?_

She had answered all of his questions readily, sometimes by asking her own, and Bilbo had felt so at home there that the knowledge of what he was _meant_ to do in this world was disconcerting. She had laughed at that, declaring him a creature of comforts already, and waved her hand before them, the entire landscaping shifting from a great garden to rolling green hills dotted with the beginnings of farms and little stone homes. The Shire, she called it, and it was to be his home, it was where he was to begin his work, for much work he had. His hands would heal cuts and burns and his words would soothe souls. She had warned him then that he might find his heart yearning for a place away from the Shire but even if he left, he would always find his way back; she told him to _be not afraid,_ for it was his _purpose,_ and he trusted her. And then she had left him and soon a creature that looked much like him, sandy curls and overlarge, hairy feet, had required his aid. His life began.

His fellow hobbits, like him in every way but for the magic in his blood, had been wary of his sudden appearance and his mysterious, almost endless pack of medicinal supplies that he hefted along his back. He would go on to feel fondness for his kind when they showed the same suspicion over the Ages to come, forever unchanging.

Bilbo found his place there, in a stone home of his own, a brewing pot and work table his only possessions. The First Hobbits, planted by their Maker much like he had been, began to have families and homes were expanded upon. Used to digging their hands and feet into soil, creating holes in the many hills around seemed expected and soon smials began to dot the landscape. They had rounded doors painted all manner of colors and they were filled with wood and comforts and soon Bilbo Baggins found his place at the top of the hill, the very hill that he had first appeared on. A sapling oak stood where he once had and began to grow quickly, sprouting another foot or so whenever the Shire inhabitants grew by number. The same tree that would later stand tall and proud over Bag End when dwarves, led by a wizard, would come to his home and whisk him away for another adventure.

It only made sense then for his first adventure to have occurred with that very same wizard. Sometime after Bilbo had met and began to trade with elves, a tall figure clad in grey had come traipsing through the Shire and wreaking havoc by his very presence. Bilbo had been surprised right down to his hairy feet when the wizard stopped in front of his home, declared himself Gandalf the Grey and in need of a companion for a trip to the East. Of course Bilbo had never traveled more than a fortnight from home and he had found himself rather eager at the idea of seeing the world with a wizard. If he had known that adventure would end in blood and tears, he might have gotten better prepared for it. The bond he had formed with Gandalf then, after risking their lives for one another against foul enemies and creatures with mighty wings, was never to be broken.

He fought with elves and men and dwarves and learned how to heal them all with the magic of his Maker. The Men looked at him with fear in their eyes and spat on him, elves turned their noses up at his small stature until he proved himself, and dwarves laughed him away from their Mountains, but still he learned. It took years to make it back to the Shire and he could hardly remember the time he spent there before he was off on another adventure, one that would again end in war and the defeat of a dark lord. The state of the world then, broken and long from its way toward healing, had set him on a path that did not return him home for many years more. He aided and he healed and so his life was for hundreds of years beyond. The occasional battle still found him and he watched them shape history and he watched the Shire remain largely untouched and peaceful throughout.

The Ages blended together and he had made friends in every corner of the world, writing them and maintaining their bond; Men died and he mourned and elves lived and he rejoiced in never-ending friendships. It was not until the Third Age, when he began to spend longer periods of time in the Shire with his own kind, that his heart finally seemed to grow a sense of longing for green fields. Gandalf came less often as peace took the world and Bilbo found himself growing prize-winning tomatoes and healing fauntlings of fevers and scraped knees. The adventurous part of him was buried deep beneath ground and was not to be woken again until the wizard spoke of a dwarf named Oakenshield and roused him once more.

He had grown soft and round and comfortable in Bag End - he sometimes forgot what wounds earned in battle looked like. He remembered the screams of war and the terror, they still found him in his worst nightmares, he remembered the fear in the eyes of those that knew they would die. It was not like great stories: not all those that knew they were going to die were brave and strong in the face of it. Many cried and screamed and begged until their last breath left them in a wheezing gasp that haunted Bilbo and that, he would never forget. The wounds themselves he mostly did.

Most had blended together at some point though he could remember the Man that had his leg crushed beneath a stone in a mining accident and he could remember trying to hold someone’s innards in at the medical camp on the outskirts of a great battle.   
  
In the face of those, an arrow in the stomach did not seem quite so hopeless and Bilbo remembered his Maker pressing a hand to his cheek and whispering about his purpose as he stared down at the wound. His purpose was to give himself, be it a little or nearly everything, to heal those around him.

He might have done the same thing for another young person two Ages ago. He could do this for a young dwarf now.

Bilbo found orders leaving his lips before they reached his mind and when a small knife for cutting into skin and muscle was placed in his hands, he did not waste time making two incisions on either side of the arrow so that he could remove it with ease. It was discarded of and blood sluggishly oozed from the wound. He was struck then by the utter silence of the dwarves around him, for few could watch, and those that did were standing numerous feet away.

Others were keeping watch for danger, hoping that the scouts that had attacked them were the only scouts nearby, and preparing themselves to fight if necessary to protect their prince.

Kili was ashen and his eyes glazed from the medicine and shock, but he still gripped at his brother, who was crouched by his side and not looking at the wound.

“The arrow was poisoned,” Bilbo whispered, Oin at his own side shifting uneasily at the announcement. The hobbit was not to be deterred and reached for one of the many clean rags he had to brush away some of Kili’s blood. He handed clean ones to his fellow healer and ordered Oin to be prepared. The dwarf asked him what for but Bilbo did not answer as he cupped the broadside of his hands around the wound and leaned in.

His eyes fluttered closed as he heard her tinkling laugh, then reached further in, digging for her magic. Its spindly hands gripped his own and he began to murmur low words, chants and prayers written before he was planted, his mind searching for the poison. He felt it under heated, inflamed skin and pressed his hands further into Kili’s abdomen, vaguely aware of the dwarf’s shout. Bilbo could feel all of it, he could feel the inky wetness of the poison, he could smell its sickly sweet scent, and he began to pull it toward him, stopping it from its fatal spread. Kili was screaming and Oin was cursing- Bilbo opened his eyes.

He pulled his hands back and looked down at the pool of black-green liquid swirling and mixing together with the dwarf’s blood. Oin reached over to wipe it away and Bilbo replaced his hands, beginning to work on healing the wound; more words in a forgotten language were chanted and Kili’s whimpering became lessened. His pallor began to darken again with blood and with life and Fili lifted his head to stare down at Bilbo’s hands, which were roving slowly over and around the wound.

Bilbo cupped them over the gash that was no longer bleeding and leaned in, pressing his lips to his fingers and whispering against them. Kili inhaled sharply and cried out again but when the hobbit’s hands left him, it was to a cut that could have been made with a careless flick of a blade, but nothing more. There were gasps and murmurs of shock around them but Bilbo only took a rag from Oin’s hands, wet it, and cleaned the drying blood from Kili’s skin. He fetched his needle and thread to sew the wound and did so quietly, not yet allowing himself to worry about the Company nor their questions.

Only when Bilbo tied the stitches off, rubbed a soothing and healing poultice around the inflamed skin, and sat back, did he raise his gaze. Kili was breathing heavily, sweat coating his face and sticking his limp hair to his forehead; he was staring with wide eyes at Bilbo, his hands white where he clutched at Fili. The blond was also gazing at Bilbo, his lips thinned into a hard line, though his eyes appeared to be filled with relief.

Bilbo smiled a little, his eyes half-closing against the sudden weariness that took him - he had put quite a lot of himself into pulling the poison from Kili’s blood. It had been a very long time since he last exerted himself in such a way but there was still the threat of danger around them. He took in a deep breath and looked around at the rest of the Company - they had moved closer at some point and were all watching Bilbo, mixtures of surprise and growing cheer.

“Well. That was a thing,” Bofur voiced, pulling his hat from his head to clutch the ratty thing against his chest.

“Bilbo, _how?”_ Fili asked, seeming to gather his courage from Bofur’s words. “How can it be? How did you do this?”

Bilbo bit his lip, slowly putting his supplies back into his pack, taking what clean rags he had left from a shell-shocked Oin. “Well,” he said, his voice startlingly hoarse, “that’s a long story. And I’m afraid I don’t have the energy nor the time to explain it. I think we best try to make it to Lake-town before we’re run down by more orcs.”

He braved lifting his gaze to the king. Thorin was standing just behind Oin and staring, his face a blank, unreadable thing. As Bilbo’s eyes fell upon him, a familiar wrinkle appeared between his brows and he inclined his head.

“Aye,” Thorin rasped out, moving slowly down to kneel next to Kili again, his eyes never straying from Bilbo along the way. Finally they turned down to his nephew and softened. “Will you be able to move quickly?”

Kili nodded, pulling his lower lip into his mouth, looking infinitely younger for it. “I’ll be fine, Uncle. It doesn’t even hurt anymore,” he whispered, looking down at his stomach before his soft brown eyes raised to Bilbo again. He smiled, pushing himself onto his elbows before his hands were suddenly flinging forward and grabbing Bilbo. The hobbit went with a yelp, letting himself be squeezed in a too-tight embrace. “Bilbo, I don’t- I don’t know _how_ you did it, but thank you. Thank you.”

And if Kili’s eyes were wet when he finally let the hobbit go, well, Bilbo didn’t mention it. He cleared his throat and nodded. “Of course, Kili,” he murmured. He managed a fleeting smile for the brothers before he slowly pushed himself to his feet, swaying once he got on them, nearly toppling over when he pulled his pack over his shoulders.

“Ye alright, laddie?” Oin asked, his big paw coming to land on Bilbo’s shoulder, righting him. “Ye are pale. Did that witchcraft do anything to ye?”

“Witchcraft!” Bilbo managed indignantly, looking up at Oin and squinting. Mostly to clear his blurred vision but if he looked severe for it, he was glad enough. “I say, _witchcraft._ No no, I’m quite alright.”

“We will speak of this later,” Thorin warned, to Bilbo and to the Company, before his eyes began to rove over the vast plains around them. “Move along! We must reach Lake-town before another orc pack is upon us. Quickly, go. Oin, stay with Kili.” Blue eyes landed back on Bilbo and Thorin stared at him for a few very long seconds.

“You have my thanks,” Thorin said, too quietly for anyone else to hear, before he was turning away again. The words were not spoken with any kindness. “Go, Master Baggins, before you lose your own feet.”

Bilbo stared up at the king, clearing his throat. “I’m perfectly alright on my feet right now,” he muttered, glancing quickly around as the Company turned in the direction of Lake-town. The lake itself was not far and it would be a brisk walk along its shores to reach the town of Men. Bilbo looked back to the king. “Thorin-”

“Move along!” Thorin repeated, waving forward in an upward arc. “We make haste!”

And they did. The Company began to run, Oin and Fili flanking Kili, whose pace was sluggish from the medicine still and the stitches. Bilbo suspected he might have to redo them the moment they were able to sit but- perhaps not. Perhaps Thorin would not want him to touch his nephew again; the dwarf’s sudden indifference and refusal to look his way was unsettling. He had just saved Kili’s life and yet Thorin had stared at him the way he had the night he met him: as if he were strange and even unworthy.

Bilbo was alarmed when his eyes grew wet and was simply glad for the blistering pace he had to set to keep up with the Company. He had not gotten so far with them to be distrusted or to be spat on like Men had chosen to do. _You should have told them then,_ a small voice saw fit to inform him, and he quickly squashed it. Dwarves were suspicious creatures and already he had been accused of witchcraft - even if Oin hadn’t seemed particularly upset, the word had been uttered around Bilbo before, and it was never accompanied by friendly conversation. He did not like to remember those times in his life, those times when he had questioned himself, when he had questioned _her._ He was far beyond that now.

They arrived at the shores of the Lake and on the main Road without any further incident. If the orcs were coming still, they had not caught up, and they would not enter Lake-town. They would have to concern themselves with them when they left for Erebor.

The Men looked upon the dwarves with curiosity and skepticism both - Bilbo did not think they likely saw dwarves very often. Not with Erebor the desolate waste that it was and with the Iron Hills so far East; no, dwarves would be an odd sight there, but when Thorin flashed a bag of coin, they were shown to a guest home with sudden eagerness. Once there, a woman asked Thorin to accompany her to the Master of Lake-town and the dwarf ordered Dwalin, Balin, Gloin, and Bilbo to go along with him. The hobbit’s protests to stay behind were ignored and Oin was bid to look after Kili - the only solace Bilbo had was that the young dwarf appeared as distraught about it as he felt.

So Bilbo was forced to stand behind the group of dwarves as Thorin spoke to the Master in the Town Hall and promised him riches when the dragon was defeated. The Master was an oily, fat man, whose grin spoke of greed and the ease of luxury. He cared for little other than gold and food and his eyes glinted with lust for the former as Thorin spoke of the treasures in the Mountain and what Erebor would do for Men. Bilbo eventually tuned them out and mentally went over his supplies, wondering if he might be able to find anything to add from the town - not likely, not after Mirkwood and what Thranduil had supplied them with.

He almost didn’t notice the meeting had come to an end and blinked slowly when he realized Thorin had turned to him. He looked up at the dwarf, pursing his lips. Thorin was staring at him, utterly blank, before he turned away and jerked his head toward the doors, beginning to march toward them, the others following.

“There will be a feast in two hours’ time,” Thorin said, a guard opening the doors for the Company, allowing them back through. A slimy looking fellow was leading them back toward their guest home, it seemed. “Burglar, with me.”

Bilbo felt a flare of irritation at the order but hurried forward nonetheless, falling into step with Thorin’s quick pace. “Back to burglar?” he asked evenly, glancing sidelong at the dwarf. It was a bit chilling to see Thorin’s lips turn up with no humor to speak of.

“You and I must speak,” the king said. “When I spoke yesterday that you were not telling us everything about yourself, I did not think witchcraft was part of it. You will keep nothing else from me, Master Baggins, and you will tell me the truth of what you are and why the wizard truly wanted you along this Quest.”

“Why he truly- Thorin, he wanted me along because I’m an excellent healer,” Bilbo said, sidestepping away from a Man carrying a basket full of what looked like netting, wondering why on earth they weren’t waiting until they stepped back inside the guest home. “Which I think I’ve proven once or twice-”

“Aye, through witchcraft,” Dwalin growled from somewhere behind Bilbo. The hobbit bristled.

“It is not _witchcraft-”_

“Quiet,” Gloin warned, and Bilbo knew him well enough to know his hand was wrapped around his axe without looking.

Thorin did not respond to the hobbit and they fell into silence as they were escorted back to the home. It would be too easy for Men around them to hear and that was the last thing Bilbo could ever want. The Man leading them hadn’t seemed to have heard anything and soon he was waving impatiently at the large house they had been gifted, leaving them before they could even open the door.

When they did step inside, Bofur leapt from the overlarge table and looked toward Bilbo, worry shining in his eyes. The hobbit felt a wave of relief - at least some were on his side. His attention was caught by the sitting room, where the rest of the Company had taken refuge, sitting on armchairs, a couch, and end tables. Kili was taking up most of the couch by himself and he raised his hand when Thorin looked toward him, looking a bit pale but healthy.

“Still living,” he chirped, earning himself a pinch from his brother, who sat near his feet.

“Don’t joke about it, Kee,” Fili murmured, low enough that Bilbo nearly didn’t catch it, and Kili offered him a sheepish, apologetic glance.

The home had two floors and seemed fit enough for a Mannish family of six - the kitchen was spacious and from what Bilbo could see of the larder, well-stocked. The table Bofur had been sitting at had been stuffed with ten chairs though they were all still too big for any member of the Company. The sitting room had a roaring fire on one end and the home was pleasantly warm for it - Bilbo wished to sit in front of it to warm his toes but he had a feeling he wouldn’t enjoy the pleasure of that quite yet.

A hand gently pressed against the back of his elbow and a low voice said, “Mend it with the truth, laddie. You owe him it.”

Bilbo worried at his bottom lip, offering a single nod for Balin, looking at Thorin. The dwarf was gazing at his nephew before he turned, and his blue eyes settled on the hobbit, as if he had known he was watching him. “Thorin,” he said, shuffling closer to him, wincing when the king’s eyes narrowed. “May we please speak about this? Er, maybe somewhere more private.”

“Or maybe so we can all hear,” Oin muttered pointedly, looking at Thorin with an arched eyebrow.

The dwarf grunted. “Explain your witchcraft to us,” he ordered, crossing his arms over his chest. The entire Company all leaned closer to the hobbit and Bilbo was pained to notice it was much like the night he met them, too - half looked curious and the other half annoyed at his very presence.

He wrung his hands together. “It’s not witchcraft,” he tried to state firmly, though it came out shaky anyway. He cleared his throat, taking in a deep breath to calm himself. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not a witch. I just- well, um. I suppose- err…” he trailed off, squinting his eyes closed for a moment before he looked back to Thorin. “It’s magic. I’m a hobbit. I’ve been blessed by Yavanna and Gandalf wanted me to come along on this Quest because I’m an excellent healer, as I’ve said, and because I’m well-traveled.”

“You are a liar,” Thorin said, as if he were mentioning the state of the weather. It cut right through Bilbo. “You can use magic like the wizard. We should have known this from the beginning and you have been hiding it from us. Why?”

“I hope you aren’t planning on yelling at Bilbo too much, Uncle,” Fili spoke, garnering the attention of the entire Company. The blond turned his chin up and settled a surprisingly stern gaze on Thorin. “He did, after all, save my brother’s life.”

“He has kept the truth from us,” Thorin responded, offering a short glance to his nephew. “I have thanked him for his aid but I wish to know why he has lied to us - about many things. Explain to us what you are, Master Baggins.”

“I’m a _hobbit,”_ Bilbo protested, only just refraining from stamping his foot like a fauntling. “I truly am, I’m a hobbit like any other but for my blessing. I excel in healing and growing things because of it. I’m not a witch and I’m still the same- the same person, you know-”

“Then why not tell us from the beginning? We already had a wizard in our Company, another wouldn’t have been frowned upon overmuch,” Dori interjected, peering at Bilbo with a neutral expression.

Bilbo felt his nose twitch and hunched his shoulders a little. “Because it’s not always gone well for me,” he said shortly, looking around at the Company. Most lowered their eyes, apparently hearing the words unspoken there, which he was grateful for. “I’ve learned better than to let others know what I am before they need to. Even when they have known, I’ve been- I’ve been- well, not nice things have happened, let’s just say that.”

“You don’t trust us,” Ori piped up, looking rather small from where he sat in an armchair, frowning at the hobbit.

“Now that’s- no, that’s not true,” Bilbo rushed, holding up his hand and shaking his head. “I trust you all very much, actually, with my life. And I, ah. Well.”   
  
How could he have trusted them, when he thought their reaction to the knowledge of what he was would be so terrible? He cleared his throat.   
  
“I suppose I was still rather concerned about how you might look at me after you knew.”

“Knowing from the beginning would have been best,” Balin sighed, resting his hands over his belly and leveling Bilbo with such disappointment that he felt his shoulders drop another inch. “You have saved our prince and for that we’re grateful but at this point in our journey, we need to trust each other. How is it that you were blessed, laddie?”

Bilbo huffed out a sigh, lifting his hand and rubbing uncomfortably at his opposite arm. Bother it all, it was exactly what he didn’t want to explain. “I was born with my gifts, in a way,” he said quietly, looking around the Company, hoping they would not turn too far from him. “Long ago, Yavanna blessed me with her magic to do some good in this world. I’m not a wizard but my work has been similar enough. When I’ve traveled, it’s to offer what I can to different towns and cities and kingdoms. It’s how I know Rivendell and Mirkwood and Gondor and everywhere else I’ve been. It’s my- my, ah, purpose.”

The dwarves were silent as they stared at him and he found himself itching for a glass of water. He was parched and terribly hungry suddenly and he wished none of this had been brought to light. Curse orcs for even existing!

“Are you like Gandalf?” Bombur asked and Bilbo was startled to see him at the head of the kitchen table. He nearly blended right into the large chair he was sitting in, his head not much higher than the table itself. “Older than you look?”

Bilbo opened his mouth, then shut it with a click, shifting uneasily. He nodded a little. “Yes,” he answered slowly, “I am. I’m- well, yes. I’m older than I look, by far. I don’t age, you see.”

There were a few sharp inhales and almost all eyes widened - Fili and Kili’s mouths were open in small ‘o’s and Bofur was leaning in, squinting as if he might be able to determine Bilbo’s age if he looked hard enough. The hobbit felt his face warm and dared a glance at Thorin. The king was still unreadable though his posture had tightened considerably, shoulders arched up like an angry cat.

“H-How old?” Ori asked, more of a peep than anything.

Bilbo floundered - _as old as dirt_ came to mind, but he thought they might not appreciate it. “A- a bit older than I’d like to say,” he said instead, shrugging his shoulder with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. If anything, the dwarves only gaped at him all the more. It was Thorin, though, that moved.

He took a step back, then another, staring at Bilbo for a long moment. Then he turned, moving to the stairs and beginning to march up them without a word for anyone - Bilbo wasn’t sure why, but all his breath left him then, and he found himself struggling to fill his aching lungs. He staggered a step forward but nearly all of the dwarves were shaking their heads at him: leave the king be.

He turned a pleading gaze on Balin, who was looking after Thorin with a hint of worry in his eyes. He sighed when he looked at the hobbit, lifting his hand and squeezing Bilbo’s shoulder. “Give him some time to collect himself before you speak with him. I fear he will not hear anything from you until then,” he warned, shaking his head. “Stubborn lads, both of you. I think that it is fair to say that I’m no longer the eldest of our Company but if you don’t mind, I’ll still be acting like it.” He hobbled to an armchair, waving Oin out of it, who rolled his eyes and let the white-haired dwarf have it.

Bofur suddenly appeared at Bilbo’s shoulder, and he threw his arm over it, smiling. “Don’t ye worry none, Bilbo, it’ll be alright. We’re going to see a dragon! I think most of us will welcome a bit o’ witchcraft when we get there, eh?” he suggested, looking around at the other dwarves.

Bilbo wasn’t sure if it was more amusing or distressing that the Company seemed to realize the truth in his words and began to look more thoughtful than constipated. He lifted his hand to dab at the sweat over his brow, sighing to himself. “Well, it’s not like I have a staff and cast spells,” he muttered. “It’s really not witchcraft-”

“Oh!” Bofur suddenly cried, smacking his forehead. “No wonder everythin’ ye’ve touched of mine has mended so quickly!”

The few snickers at his words were not appreciated and Bilbo groaned, squirming away from the dwarf. “You see? That’s what I’m good at. _Healing._ You can go to Gandalf if you want some wizardry,” he declared, waggling his finger between the rest of them. He would not show how grateful he felt as their gazes softened - even Gloin and Dwalin only rolled their eyes at him, which was much more than he had been hoping for. He sniffed, wandering his way through the sitting room and to Kili.

“How are you?”

Kili grinned. “Fine. Oin didn’t even have to stitch me up again, yours still look great,” he answered, leaning back against the couch and lifting his boots to rest them on the tea table. He looked rather proud of himself and Bilbo snorted. “Bilbo magicked me. Uncle can pout about it all he wants but he’ll eventually thank you and actually mean it. Not that he doesn’t mean it _now-_ you know what I mean!” He waved his hand dismissively as Fili shook his head at him.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Bilbo said, smiling as Fili cuffed his brother on the back of his head. The blond couldn’t hide his gratitude and fondness for him if he tried. “And I do hope Thorin doesn’t hate me for this.”

“Oh I think he hates you,” Nori muttered from somewhere to Bilbo’s left and when he looked, he saw the thief lurking near the corner of the home. At Bilbo’s frown, Nori smirked. “Hates you for being too old for him n-”

“Shh!” Dori hissed, scowling at his younger brother. “Thorin doesn’t hate Bilbo at all, he simply needs a moment. Keep your mouth closed, Nori.” He grumbled, turning more toward Bilbo, his features softening almost comically. “Now now, Bilbo, Thorin will come around. He holds your friendship in the highest regard. Give him a little time.”

Bilbo felt his face heat as he glanced warily between the brothers before he nodded, reaching up to rub uncomfortably at his neck. “It looks like I’ll have to,” he said, glancing toward the ceiling, wondering if Thorin had holed himself up in a bedroom. He wished to go hunt him down and explain himself more but the dwarves were right: it would do more harm than good at this point.

He sighed, looking around at the Company as they began to speak amongst themselves. Bombur slid from his overlarge chair at the table and bustled into the larder. Bilbo knew that informing the dwarf there was to be a feast soon would make no difference in his quest to seek out a snack - the hobbit understood - and turned away, looking for somewhere he might curl up and rest for a while. The Company seemed to accept him more or less given their furtive but curious glances and he sighed in relief, looking down at the ground.

Just when he was going to sit before the couch and make himself comfortable, four hands grabbed him, and he was hauled onto the couch to sit between Fili and Kili. He grumbled as he was met with identical grins but settled himself back nonetheless, resting his head on the blond’s shoulder as Kili did much the same to his own shoulder. The brothers were warm and despite all their sharp angles, rather cozy to rest against - Bilbo didn’t last but for another moment.

——

He woke with a sharp jerk at a harsh banging noise and flailed his hand for Sting before it was caught.

“Just the door, Bilbo,” Fili mumbled thickly, squeezing the hobbit’s wrist. “It’s alright.”

Bilbo’s heart didn’t agree with that statement and he looked toward the door as Balin hurried to answer it, noting that the sun had fallen. The same Man with watery eyes was there to escort them to the feast - something that had even Kili hopping to his feet - and he muttered impatiently as Dwalin began shouting near the stairs about it. Bilbo was at least able to spare a smile at the hurried footsteps and familiar dwarven curses from those that had chosen to explore the home more. He wondered if he would be able to bunk with Bofur - he was very fond of Fili and Kili and though they would no doubt want him with them for the night, they meant Thorin, and he had a feeling his welcome with the dwarf wasn’t existent anymore. Not right then in any case.

Thorin himself materialized out of seemingly nowhere next to Balin at the door and Bilbo swallowed past his scratchy throat. He must have come down while Bilbo dozed. The hobbit was unable to help but watch him and when Thorin glanced his way, he tried to convey his wish to catch his eye but the king swiftly averted his gaze.

Bilbo knew the pain in his heart wasn’t fear anymore. He sighed, letting Fili rub his back and murmur tasteless anecdotes about Thorin’s nose and where it should go. It didn’t cheer him up much but he appreciated the effort, and it made Kili snicker.

He lingered so he was last to leave the home besides Gloin, who would take up the rear with Oin as they were escorted through the city. There were less people in Lake-town, having finished their work for the day and gone home to their families. Windows shone with golden glows and Bilbo was glad to hear some cheer from within wooden walls - the town of Men was a dreary place with meager standards of living. Perhaps that would change and very soon, if they succeeded.

He pushed the thoughts of Smaug from his mind and hurried after the Company as they were led to the Town Hall. Soon they were being ushered inside the hall warmed by three massive hearths and adorned with numerous tables pushed together; at the head of the largest table stood the Master and he waved enthusiastically for Thorin to join him. Some small words were exchanged before the Master clapped his hands together and servants appeared, carrying platters and barrels of ale and green bottles of elvish wine that would be wasted among the Company. Even Bilbo didn’t feel like drinking any.

Bilbo didn’t feel like being there at all, where there was merriment, where there was someone who looked at him as if he had betrayed him. He supposed he had betrayed Thorin and his reasons for doing so seemed feeble at best now. It meant the world to him that the other dwarves were willing to speak with him (though the elders sans Balin still seemed a bit wary) throughout the feast but he found he craved different company. But whenever he looked toward Thorin, the dwarf would never look his way - it struck him how often he and Thorin tended to meet each other’s eyes, the loss strongly felt now that they weren’t anymore.

So the hobbit poked at his food more than ate it and couldn’t find it in himself to laugh at any of the stories the dwarves were telling. They were becoming less believable and more amusing as the night went on and Bilbo was beginning to feel properly miserable.

When the meal was finished and the Company, along with many Men, began to mill about the hall, Bilbo watched Thorin finally leave the Master’s side and join Balin. He looked utterly exhausted and annoyed but when the white-haired dwarf was able to coax a smirk from him, Bilbo found himself leaving the table before he could think better of it. He approached the two as sneakily as he could, hoping Balin could help him if Thorin decided to shout.

It was not to be. Thorin clasped Balin’s shoulder with a tired smile before his eyes fell on Bilbo as he stepped close to them. The smile slid right from him and his eyes became guarded as he dropped his hand. Thorin didn’t mutter an excuse as he moved from Balin and shouldered past Bilbo, beginning to walk away.

The hobbit stared after him, rooted to the spot. “Thorin,” he managed to call but the dwarf did not look back and soon disappeared in the crowd. A warm hand closed over Bilbo’s shoulder and he looked helplessly at Balin. “How do I make this better if he won’t let me speak to him?”

“You know as well as I he can be difficult,” Balin said, looking after Thorin with a heavy sigh. “Time, laddie. Give it time.”

“We don’t _have_ time,” Bilbo implored. “Durin’s Day is only a few days away. We’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t we? I’m expected to face a dragon and I won’t do so while he doesn’t trust me. I’ve realized now I should’ve told you lot sooner about myself but I can’t change it.” He fretfully wrung his hands together, craning his neck after Thorin, though he knew it would be useless in the crowd of Men.

Balin rested his hands on his hips, inspecting Bilbo with a careful eye. “It’s more than his trust that’s broken at the moment,” he commented, drawing a frown from the hobbit.

“His pride as well, hmm? That’s easily fractured,” Bilbo muttered. “I don’t know why. He couldn’t have known. Oh, I feel so rotten about this. What can I do, Balin?”

The dwarf stared heavily, making Bilbo squirm, before he finally shook his head, as if flabbergasted. “Keep trying, laddie, you’ll eventually get him to listen. You always have,” Balin said, still shaking his head. It didn’t seem like he was going to stop anytime soon either. “Though it might be better once he’s slept on it.”

Bilbo grumbled a little. Why was Balin speaking as if he were disappointed in him all over again? “I hope it is,” he replied, looking around at a few of the dwarves he could see. Ori looked a bit red in the face, as if he had been at a barrel a few too many times, and Fili and Kili seemed to be thrilled with it. “I think we’ll all feel better once we’ve slept on this entire day.”

“Smaug will not care for our differences come Durin’s Day,” Balin said cheerfully, smiling as he looked at the hobbit, his eyebrows near his hairline. At the scowl he received, he patted Bilbo’s arm consolingly. “Have an ale, Bilbo, perhaps it will help. Enjoy tonight. After everything, we’ve earned it.” He winked, then turned and left the hobbit to stand by himself.

He watched him go, his stomach churning angrily at the thought of adding any ale to it. No, he would not be enjoying himself - he was still worn from his day, let alone dealing with his misery. Bilbo peered around for a moment longer before deciding he would get a full night of rest rather than trying to pretend to be alright. He made his way from the hall, though it was admittedly with many difficulties, sneaking by Fili and Kili and excusing himself from Bofur’s grasping hands. When he stepped outside into the cold night, he tried not to think about the fact that he hadn’t seen Thorin.

Being a hobbit certainly did have its advantages and Bilbo was glad for it as he wasn’t noticed on his hike back to the guest home. Few Men were out and about but he would rather avoid any and all questions if he could.

Bilbo reached the home within moments and opened the door, slipping inside. It was eerily quiet and he sighed, walking to the packs that had been abandoned near the door, fishing his own out and finding his pipe. He had very little pipeweed left to his name and knew that he would have to buy some before they left for the Mountain tomorrow, if he could find an open stall - he was going to be miserable, he knew that, but he could be slightly less so with a full bag of leaf.

After packing his pipe, he lit it and wondered to the hearth, lifting the poker to bring some life back into the dying fire. Once it was roaring and beginning to warm the sitting room, he took up residence in the closest armchair, puffing on the pipe Thorin gave him, staring glumly at it. He tried not to startle out of his skin when the door burst open and a dwarf king stumbled inside.

Perhaps finding Thorin would not be so difficult after all. Though when the king turned wide eyes upon him and Bilbo watched them fill with relief and melt into fury, he wondered if he would have preferred for it to be difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are so appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6

There was a brief moment of silence as Thorin glared at Bilbo and the hobbit stared wide-eyed back at him, taken aback by his sudden appearance. The king looked livid by far and that in itself was not altogether surprising - Bilbo expected that to last quite a bit longer. Getting back in his good graces seemed like it might make for a tedious chore.

“What are you doing?” Thorin finally asked, roughly, stepping closer to where Bilbo was sitting in the armchair.

“Er,” Bilbo managed, arching his eyebrows and glancing down at his pipe. He looked back to the king. “Smoking my pipe?”

“Why did you leave alone? You cannot trust this town of Men. You are not to travel these streets by yourself,” Thorin ordered, stomping closer to the fireplace, standing near it and looking decidedly harried. “You should have asked for an escort-”

Bilbo scoffed. “Now see here,” he interrupted, holding the pipe against his thigh. “I was perfectly alright on my own! No one even saw me. Besides you, I suppose. I didn’t need an escort. Nothing is going to happen while we’re here, Thorin.” He lifted his chin as Thorin side-eyed him, his brow furrowed in his frustration - a silly, needless frustration in Bilbo’s opinion.

“You are not to travel by yourself,” Thorin repeated firmly, turning more toward the hobbit. It seemed like he wasn’t able to keep himself still and Bilbo wondered why in the world he was so upset about it. Perhaps he thought he would run off to perform some witchcraft while no one was looking. “I would not want any of you to wander alone but the others are not foolish enough to do so.”

Bilbo bristled, standing from his chair and moving to the hearth, tapping out the ashes from his pipe. He felt the urge to lob it at Thorin’s head just for the satisfaction of seeing his shock but tampered down the tween-like desire. “Nothing was going to happen to me,” he said, shooting Thorin a glare of his own as the dwarf squared himself. “I’ve been in more cities and towns of Men than you ever have, you know, and mostly by myself. I know how to take care of myself.”

“I care not for what you have done before. You have signed a contract and you are the burglar of my Company. I expect you to fulfill your role and I do not want you to compromise it by getting lost or hurt here. It only takes one instance, no matter how much you have _experienced,”_ Thorin said, full of condescension, his lips twisting in some amusement that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Do you know what, Thorin? If I said any of that to you, you’d banish me from the Company. I have seen more war and terror than _you_ ever have,” Bilbo snapped, pointing down at the ground. “And I have more sense than you do besides! Just because you’re angry at me doesn’t mean you have to be a- a- well, an arse. The others seemed to trust me still-”

“The others do not-” Thorin broke off with a strangled growl, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “They do not have the role that I do. You have lied to me this entire Quest and expect to have my trust still? How do I know that there is nothing else you are keeping from me?”

Bilbo threw his arms in the air. “What more would I have to hide? I only hid it because I thought you lot would never grow to trust me if you knew. I told you earlier, not everyone has the best of reactions to it! Much like how _you’re_ reacting to it. If I had told you I was nearly as old as this world, what would you have thought? Hmm?”

Thorin flinched, not at all what Bilbo was expecting him to do, before his eyes hardened again. “I would have thought your worth more valuable,” he answered. “I did not trust you until I began to _see_ your worth, Halfling, and you would have had to earn it just as you did. I have already told you not to presume how I would have reacted - you cannot know when you keep things from me.”

“You don’t trust Gandalf, Men, _or_ elves, Thorin, I think it wasn’t too much of a reach to expect that you wouldn’t trust _me,”_ Bilbo said, deflating a little and taking a step back from the dwarf. He would ignore the ‘Halfling’ jab. “I _am_ sorry. I should have just told you lot everything. But you know now. Do you think me any less able to be a burglar?”

The dwarf turned away, lifting his arm to rest against the mantel over the hearth. “I will see you do what you have agreed to do,” he replied. “Perhaps you have an advantage if you are to come across Smaug, with your witchcraft.”

Bilbo closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, attempting to tether himself to the ground so he did not spontaneously burst into flames. The dwarves seemed intent on calling it witchcraft and he didn’t see the point in bothering to correct them anymore - Thorin wished to cast it in a negative light and that was what he was going to continue doing. The hobbit let out his breath in a slow sigh and looked back at the dwarf. It hurt, seeing Thorin lit by the warm glow of the fire, as handsome as he always was, but not looking back at him. Again he was struck by their friendship and how keenly he felt the loss of it now.

“I’m just as vulnerable as you are when it comes to a dragon, I’m afraid,” Bilbo said, his voice wavering a little more than he would have liked. He was terribly sad suddenly and felt ill - he suspected from the idea of Smaug and Thorin’s distrust both. “But I’ll do my best. I always planned to.”

He turned away and wandered to his pack, taking it up and slinging it over his shoulder. He didn’t particularly feel like being where he wasn’t wanted or liked anymore. Though perhaps Thorin’s anger would fade once he’d had time to think on it - that didn’t make Bilbo feel any less hopeless right then of course and he gave himself a mighty scolding. He’d lived thousands of years without Thorin Oakenshield and he would live thousands more without him as well.

But then why did it hurt so very much?

Bilbo trudged to the stairs and up them, wandering into the hall, faltering. The dwarves had already explored the home and likely claimed rooms for their own and he’d been sound asleep when they had. There were four doors upstairs and he checked the rooms until he recognized Bombur’s pack from the pots and pans and hoped that he, Bofur, and Bifur wouldn’t mind if he bunked with them. Not likely considering Bofur was a good friend and hadn’t seemed bothered at all by the truth of what he was: an unusual hobbit.

He dropped his pack in the corner of the room and opened the closet to find a blanket. He found numerous blankets and a few pillows, making a nest in the corner of the room for himself, not wanting to claim the bed for his own. His stomach roiled and he wasn’t particularly sure if it was from nerves, the lack of a proper meal, or his general upset. Bilbo grumbled and collapsed onto his bedding, snuggling up under the mound of blankets and closing his eyes tight, trying to will himself into finding calm. If he was not acutely aware of where he was, he might have tried to pretend he was in Bag End.

Bilbo was only aware that he had fallen asleep when the sudden burst of voices startled him awake. The dwarves had come back and seemed to be incredibly drunk. The ‘Ur family didn’t even seem to notice him as they stumbled into the room, hanging off each other and roaring with laughter. Bilbo wasn’t surprised when they were all noisily snoring within moments and drifted off again to the familiar lullaby.

——

The Company were to leave Lake-town just after midday. Many of the dwarves were paying the price for their late night partying and drinking, so morning was a slow and quiet affair. Greasy breakfasts of sausages, fried potatoes, biscuits, and gravy were made, and most ate to their hearts’ content. Bilbo would have normally eaten more than all of them but his stomach was still misbehaving - something he was not necessarily used to - and he took a modest plate by himself near the fire.

When Bilbo had been traveling to the different realms of Men throughout the world, he had thought on more than one occasion to have met someone he could consider a friend. There was the fellow in Gondor, young and full of spirit, a soldier who felt he had something to prove to his lordly father. He was a handsome sort with a grin like Kili’s, full of warmth and drawing anyone in, willingly or not. Bilbo had requested a paid guard to guide him through the bustling city and they had become fast friends. The Man’s never-ending cheer had been a blessedly needed relief from the dreary and the unclean.

All it had taken was a woman that had been kicked by a startled horse and who had been in quite a lot of pain from a broken shin. Bilbo had been close by and he’d been able to set the bone for her right then and there. She had stared at him as if he were Eru come himself to heal her but when he had looked at his friend, he had watched his eyes fill with horror and disgust. He had been called some unsavory things, shoved into a murky puddle of water and had not seen the Man again. It wasn’t the first time something like that had happened and yet it had been such a blow to him that he’d gone to his inn and not come out for days. He had asked aloud why Yavanna had not told him he would face such ridicule but he had received no answer.

Not that he had expected to. He hadn’t spoken with his Maker since she had created him but he knew that she listened. Sometimes after speaking out loud to himself and to her, he’d wake up in Bag End to see his plants had flourished a great deal - more than even his magic allowed. It had been a comfort to know that she was at least there… even if she never helped with his occasional bouts of depression from being shunned. Perhaps it was so he could learn from it and learn he had.

“What’re you thinking about, Bilbo?” a voice interrupted his somewhat morose thoughts, making him startle, his fork sliding loudly against his plate.

Bilbo looked up to see Kili hovering at the arm of his chair, looking a little concerned, but wearing a warm smile nonetheless. He managed to give him one back. “Oh,” he said, “plenty of things but nothing of concern.” He motioned at the chair next to his and the dwarf vaulted over the side of it to flop down rather than sit like a civilized individual. It made Bilbo smile all the wider though. “How are you feeling?”

Kili chuckled. “You’ve asked me that already this morning,” he pointed out, but there was something in his brown eyes that made Bilbo take pause. Kili must have read his inquisitive gaze because he suddenly looked oddly ashamed and lowered his gaze to his lap.

“What is it?” Bilbo prodded, setting his plate aside and sitting up more.

The dwarf pursed his lips and looked over his shoulder toward the Company before he looked back at Bilbo. He opened his mouth then closed it tight, his lips thinning into a hard line, as if he wasn’t sure if he should share his thoughts or not. Bilbo waited patiently for him and Kili’s hand eventually twitched, moving to rest over his stomach.

“I can still feel it,” he said so quietly Bilbo had to lean closer. Kili swallowed roughly, his throat bobbing, and his expression turned a little desperate suddenly. “I barely slept last night, I just kept- kept feeling it, you know? I thought… looking at everyone right after it happened, I could see it on their faces. They thought I was a goner and so did I. I _would_ have been without you. But I keep feeling it like it happened again. Fee says I’m flinching a lot.”

Bilbo softened, leaning back into his chair. “That’s normal,” he said quietly, hoping he sounded encouraging. “It only happened yesterday. And this might happen for a little while more but it’ll eventually go away.” Kili had done a good job at hiding how he was feeling, since Bilbo hadn’t noticed any unease in him. His heart clenched at the idea of the dwarf attempting to hide it because he didn’t want anyone to think any less of him - if anything, everyone else seemed to be trying to hide fond gazes aimed at their prince.

Kili didn’t look appeased and furrowed his brow in a frown, managing to transform into Thorin right before Bilbo’s eyes. “We’re about to go see a dragon and I’m jumping at half the noises I hear. What if I can’t face him?” the dwarf mumbled, picking at the armrest of his chair, pulling at a loose thread.

“I’m hoping you don’t have to to begin with but I know that if we do have to face Smaug that you’ll be one of the strongest of us,” Bilbo replied, smiling a little as Kili sent him a rather sharp look, as if he didn’t believe him. “I mean that. It’s alright to be afraid after what happened to you, Kili, but after a little while, you won’t think of it. You’ll be making the best out of everything as you always do. An arrow isn’t going to take that away.”

The dwarf sighed, his face twisting in annoyance. “Why did _I_ have to get stuck by an arrow, anyway?” he asked, his tone petulant. “That seems a cruel irony though I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to get it either. Felt a little like Mahal might have been laughing at us right then.”

“Mahal didn’t ask those orcs to be there,” Bilbo said, reaching over to pat Kili’s knee. “That arrow could’ve found any of us and we’re lucky none of the orc’s others did. A rather unlucky shot but there’s a reason why I’m here. And I’ll continue to be here for you lot. I might stick around long enough to see you be crowned a prince and Eru save us all when that happens.”

Kili snorted, then grinned. “I’m not the Crown Prince. That means that I’m the prince that gets to have all the fun,” he whispered conspiratorially, winking. “My brother can deal with responsibilities. It’s not in my vocabulary, it’s just not.” He blew a few strands of his wild hair away from his eyes and hit his fist against his thigh a few times. “If Smaug is alive, I might have an advantage or two being behind the bow.”

“Something I am envious of, believe you me,” Bilbo remarked drily, pulling another grin from Kili. “I only have a letter opener.”

“And your witchcraft,” the dwarf pointed out, laughing as Bilbo groaned and rolled his eyes. “Whatever it is, you have it. And don’t worry about Uncle too much.” The dwarf peered over his shoulder again, likely to make sure Thorin wasn’t lurking nearby, before he turned back to Bilbo and leaned in closer. “He’ll come around. He’s just sore because he’s so fond of you and you did his pride a number these last few days. But he likes you too much to keep sulking about it.”

Bilbo felt his cheeks warm and looked back to the fire. “I’m not so sure,” he said. “I’d like to believe that but he can hardly look at me right now. He didn’t look at me at all when he came down.” He tried not to feel bitter about it but he could hardly help it - Thorin had marched right by him as if he didn’t exist.

Kili snickered a bit, drawing Bilbo’s reproachful gaze. “Just remembering when Mum teased him about going grey. He sulked for days. Don’t take it too seriously. So what if you kept it from us? You had your reasons and you saved my life - if he doesn’t start treating you better before we get to Erebor, Fili and I will make sure he’s miserable,” the dwarf declared, looking rather gleeful at the idea of bothering his uncle. He leapt from the chair, though Bilbo didn’t miss his hand resting over his abdomen, where his stitches were. “I hope you know that we’re all going to want to hear some stories these next few nights. You must have some to rival Gandalf’s.”

“A few stories he told were altered to omit myself from them,” Bilbo admitted, laughing as Kili’s face morphed quickly into astonishment. “Most of my best stories involved Gandalf at my side but I’m sure I can think of a few for you. Here, take this with you.” He grabbed his plate and handed it to the dwarf, who huffed good-naturedly as he took it.

“I can’t believe it. He’s told some wild tales, I can’t imagine you there at all!” Kili exclaimed, looking Bilbo up and down. “You’re a wonder, Mister Boggins. And Uncle knows it.” He shot Bilbo a too-handsome smirk as the hobbit looked flatly at him before he turned his nose up importantly. “I’m going to go tell Fili about you. Don’t be surprised when we join you on the boat.”

Bilbo sighed, watching at the dwarf strutted away, his concerns apparently faded from his mind for the moment. The hobbit smiled, resigning himself to his fate for that afternoon before he looked back at the warm glow of the fire, stretching his toes toward it. They would likely have a fire that night but he didn’t know if Thorin would allow another closer to Erebor and he planned on taking advantage.

He’d seen dragons before, from a distance, and wondered if he’d still appreciate a good fire after coming face to face with one.

——

When the Company set out from Lake-town, it was on two small boats, seven to each. It was supposed to be about two hours to the Northern shores of the Lake and the dwarves were all but vibrating in their eagerness to get to Erebor’s base. The Mountain loomed over them like a massive sentinel and Thorin stood at the end of the boat, staring up at it. Bilbo had unfortunately been stuck on his boat due to Fili and Kili’s insistence but considering the dwarf seemed far more interested in gazing at his Mountain, he was mostly able to ignore his presence.

Kili was not lying and stared expectantly at Bilbo with his wide brown eyes, wishing for stories like a fauntling. The hobbit was defenseless against it and picked some of the more amusing or heroic tales that he had behind his belt. Other stories were meant to be written down - he needed to do more of that - rather than told, as they were long and painful, deserving of the attention he needed to give them.

Time passed quickly and it was not long before the shores of the Long Lake grew near. They leapt from the boats once they had landed on the rocky shore and pulled them further inland so they didn’t drift. Supplies were hefted over backs and Bilbo looked up at the Mountain looming tall before them. Erebor’s peaks were snowy and it was such a stark contrast against the blue sky that Bilbo found himself squinting.

He wasn’t particularly excited to get any closer and felt his good humor melt away as he began to follow the dwarves up toward the overlook. There was a dragon in Erebor’s dark depths and he was supposed to burgle a rather small stone from it - already he felt the weight of failure heavy on his shoulders and they hunched for it.

A tap on his shoulder startled him and he looked up, blinking at Bifur. The dwarf signed something before he huffed, seeming to remember the hobbit wouldn’t be able to read it, eyeing Bilbo critically.

 _“Khuzdul?”_ Bifur growled out, sounding particularly aggressive.

Bilbo thought about lying but supposed it would only get him into more hot water. He pursed his lips. “Yes,” he answered, “I can understand it.” Bifur stopped walking.

So did the rest of the Company and they all turned to stare at him.

His ears burned. “Sorry,” he muttered, sounding more miserable than he intended to. He shifted his pack further up on his shoulder, looking at Bifur and clearing his throat. “I’m not always sure about it because it’s been so long since I’ve been around dwarves but I can mostly piece it together.”

Some dwarves looked more uncomfortable than others and for good reason - Bilbo had tried not to listen in on conversations but sometimes he couldn’t help it and he’d learned quite a lot about his companions and their own gossip. It was another thing that he wondered if he should have just told them to begin with - he wouldn’t have had to admit what he was though he would have had to come up with an excuse as to why he knew their language, secretive creatures that they were.

He didn’t miss the way Thorin was now glowering at him but the king turned away a moment later. “Move on,” he ordered, stomping off, the pebbles beneath his boots crunching loudly enough to echo around them. It was silent beyond them; all creatures, bird and otherwise, had fled from the dragon.

 _“Iglishmêk?”_ Bifur asked. Bilbo shook his head in response and the dwarf appeared pleased.

Bifur moved further ahead and fell into step with Bombur, signing something that made the rounded dwarf nod solemnly. Bilbo felt even more put out about it and kept his eyes on the ground so he didn’t trip and make an even bigger fool of himself. Gandalf had said he would meet them at the overlook and Bilbo began to pray for that to be true - he could use an ally in all of this and someone who might be able to help soothe things over with the Company.

Well. With those that were not Thorin Oakenshield.

Bilbo resolutely did not look at the king but he felt finely attuned to his movements nonetheless. He was expected to wander into Erebor, alone, to see if a dragon still lived - and then to steal from it in the meantime. He had some knowledge of a dragon’s nature though he had always made sure to stay far away from the war-torn lands they ravaged once upon a time. They were immensely possessive over their hoards and if Smaug was alive, Bilbo didn’t think the theft of the Arkenstone would go unnoticed. And he hardly had any protection - only his quiet feet, really.

The general sense of his mortality in this situation nearly took him off of those feet and he had to slow to take in a steady breath of air. He might not be _alive_ in two days’ time. Very little mattered beyond trying to stay living and the back of his neck prickled when he thought about it - surely Thorin did not hate him so much so as to not care about it?

He _would_ see them on better terms before he continued on with this harebrained Quest.

——

By the time they made it to the overlook, it was nearing evening and Thorin reluctantly called for a camp to be made. It would be too dark to attempt to go any further and though Gandalf wasn’t there yet, they expected him to be and would give him time to catch up. Bilbo didn’t need to voice his concerns on if that was going to happen - with each passing moment he was beginning to doubt it and he knew the others were likely feeling the same. It was incredibly disheartening.

Bilbo stood near the edge of the cliff face and looked at Erebor in all her majesty, imagining the walls melting away and revealing a slumbering red dragon. He could picture Smaug perfectly in his mind’s eye and his stomach seemed to take a tumble downward. They were there, they’d finally made it but the worst part of their journey still lay ahead, curled up and dozing in gold.

He turned away from the Mountain and looked back toward the dwarves who were finishing making camp. A fairly small fire had been made and Bombur was hefting his cooking supplies around to prepare their supper. Bilbo noted that while they were still quite far from Erebor, most of the dwarves were speaking in lower tones; perhaps because everything echoed so well around them. Bilbo knew that Smaug couldn’t possibly hear them from such a distance but he wondered if everyone else briefly entertained the idea as he had.

After wandering back to join the Company, Bilbo found himself at a loss. He was too restless to sit and yet he wouldn’t be able to wander around to rid himself of some of his nerves. They’d picked up a few books from Lake-town but his mind was a buzzing hive right then and he knew he wouldn’t be able to focus. No, there was simply too much worry.

The core of it surrounded a certain dwarf, he knew. Bilbo looked toward Thorin, who was settling his pack down near the edge of camp, his face a storm cloud. Not that it hadn’t been these last few days but everyone would know not to push their luck with the king right then.

Not Bilbo, however.

He wasn’t sure what madness took him but he was suddenly seething white hot anger. The dwarf was acting ridiculous when it came to all of this and he was quite fed up with it. Bilbo found himself stomping toward Thorin before he’d made up his mind to do so and was vaguely aware of most of the dwarves stopping what they were doing to watch him. The king didn’t notice him until he was nearly upon him but when their eyes met, something that looked decidedly like _danger_ flashed in them.

Bilbo didn’t give a mouse’s tail.

“May I speak with you please?” he asked - demanded - and only barely kept himself from dragging Thorin away. He _did_ know his limits.

Thorin visibly pushed any outward emotion away and simply arched his eyebrows as if mildly disinterested. “It can wait, Master Baggins,” he dismissed. “If you do not have anything to be getting on with, I can assign you first watch-”

“What I have to be ‘getting on with’, Thorin Oakenshield, is preparing myself for facing a fire drake,” Bilbo interrupted, squaring himself and glaring at the foolishly arrogant king he had chosen to follow. “Which I will be doing very shortly and all by myself, might I add. But do you know what? I’m not setting foot near that blasted door until you and I have spoken.”

“I do not wish to speak with you,” Thorin snapped, sounding much like a petulant tween. Bilbo might have laughed if he weren’t so annoyed. “We have nothing to speak of unless it is concerning Erebor or the wyrm himself. Anything else can wait until we have reclaimed the Mountain.”

“Actually, it really can’t,” Bilbo replied, looping his thumbs in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “Because as I’ve just said, I’m not going into Erebor until you and I have spoken.” Thorin’s eyes narrowed and Bilbo jutted his chin out. “Why should I want to help you when you can barely look at me without glaring? When you don’t trust me?”

Thorin stepped closer to loom over him. _“I_ did not lie to you,” he hissed, his hands clenching into white-knuckled fists. _“You_ are the one who broke that trust, Master Burglar. And you have signed a contract: you _will_ fulfill your duties on this Quest. I have made myself clear on this.”

“What are you going to do, Thorin? Toss me into Erebor?” Bilbo asked, sighing in exasperation. “I will gladly do as I’ve promised to do once you and I speak about this. I feel badly about it, you know I do, but acting like this when we’ve only got each other to rely on seems foolish. I’m sorry I lied to you but I had good reason to, whether you’d like to believe that or not. I should’ve told you sooner but I was scared. I’m still the same hobbit you’ve known-”

“But you are not,” Thorin interrupted, sounding oddly desperate. His eyes darted to the Company, all of whom found their boots or the sky interesting suddenly. Thorin all but growled as he looked back at Bilbo, grabbing the hobbit’s arm in a vice-like grip and dragging him - rather needlessly - away from the others. Bilbo let himself be handled but the moment Thorin stopped walking, he pointedly wrenched his arm away and settled a flat look on the king.

Thorin ignored it. “You are not the same hobbit. You have been false about who you are. _What_ you are. The wizard only suggested you as our burglar because of your witchcraft, nothing more, and you kept it from us,” he growled, still standing a little too close for comfort. “I have come to trust you with my life under falsehoods.”

“Why are you so upset about it?” Bilbo asked and much to his mortification, it was with a little desperation of his own. “I understand why you’re angry - I lied - but goodness, if the others can see that nothing has changed, surely you can? Thorin, I would give my life for this Quest! That’s what I _did_ when I signed your blasted contract. I would do it because I believe in you and I want you to have your home back. You must trust me if I’m to have a hand in it!”

Thorin stared at him, his gaze a leaden weight on Bilbo’s shoulders. “When you did not reveal your friendship with that traitor, I forgave you for it. I asked you to trust me with the truth and you swore that you would. The very next day I would come to learn that you are not just a hobbit, that you do not age and that you can use witchcraft. You kept this from me,” he said in a low tone. “How can I trust that you will not find it simple to continue lying to me?”

Bilbo lifted his hands to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Thorin,” he muttered, dropping them a moment later. “Must I ask it again? Do you really think I’ve got anything further to lie about? Do you really think there’s _more_ beyond not aging and using magic?”

The king kept his mouth stubbornly shut and Bilbo groaned a little.

“Oh Thorin, please stop this. It’s gone on for too long. We haven’t got _time_ to afford being upset with each other anymore and I’m not going to walk into the dragon’s maw knowing you are so angry with me. That’d be a terrible thought to die to. At least let me burn to death knowing we were friends.”

Thorin’s lips thinned into a frown. “You will not die, Master Baggins,” he said, managing to make it sound like an order. At the look it earned him, Thorin sighed. “I trust that you will know how to keep yourself alive. You have managed for this long.”

Bilbo thought he might have meant beyond the present Quest. “Yes, I’ve kept myself alive for a while now,” he agreed, glancing toward the Company, who were all putting on a good show of pretending to not listen. They were a little too quiet for that. He looked back at Thorin and didn’t miss the tension lines finally easing around his eyes. “I’ve also managed to keep others alive.”

Thorin lowered his gaze and inclined his head. “Aye, that you have. I did not speak falsely when I thanked you for it, Bilbo. Kili would not be with us had you not been there and that is a debt I know not how to repay,” he murmured, and the hobbit thought he sounded somewhat sheepish. “You saved my nephew’s life. And I have been…”

“Yes?” Bilbo prodded after a beat of silence.

“I have been behaving like a mule,” Thorin finally settled on, drawing a surprised chuckle from Bilbo.

“Well, yes. Though I’ve come to expect that most of the time,” he teased, ducking his head to hide his smile when Thorin glared at him. It looked a bit forced anyway. When he looked back at the dwarf, Thorin was staring at him with such blatant apprehension that his humor melted away and he frowned. “What is it?”

“I had thought that-” Thorin broke off, his brow turning down in frustration. “You and I- we-”

The slew of Khuzdul curses was rather unexpected and Bilbo raised his eyebrows to his hairline. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen Thorin struggle so much with his words and it made him feel uneasy - his stomach was light and his heart was pounding frantically in his ears. Surely not… no, of course not. He had simply thrown Thorin off his game by all of this - by these last few days.

“Apologies,” Thorin muttered after a moment. “I had forgotten you understand Khuzdul. It is of no matter. I will be better, Master Baggins. Go back to the warmth of the fire, you are shivering.”

Bilbo was startled to realize that he was indeed shivering. Unfortunately for himself, he knew that it wasn’t because of the chill in the air - no, not at all. Whatever Thorin had been about to say suddenly seemed incredibly important and the chance to know what it was was quickly slipping from his fingers, like too little water. “Thorin,” he tried, lifting his hand and pressing it against the dwarf’s arm. Thorin’s eyes fell to the ground and Bilbo felt his heart lodge itself in his throat. “Thorin, please-”

“Do not concern yourself. It is nothing,” Thorin interrupted, shaking his head and stepping back from Bilbo’s touch, his features falling into his familiar, void mask. “Fili and Kili will want you to tell a tale or two tonight. I will join you for a smoke after we have eaten.”

Bilbo felt numb. Thorin wasn’t going to say what had been on his mind and it was a blow, but he was at least letting him know that he wasn’t closing himself off completely. But Bilbo didn’t want him to close himself off at all - he wanted to know what ‘we’ had meant to the king. You and I, he had said - _you and I what?_ Bilbo desperately wanted to ask, but the question seemed wrong somehow. He blinked hard at the dwarf that was refusing to look at him before he nodded, turning away.

They still had the rest of the night to warm back up to each other but Bilbo had a feeling that wouldn’t be enough.

It felt like the wrong time, the wrong place, all of it. They were too close to the Mountain now and Bilbo walked back to the fire feeling wholly dejected for it. He no longer felt restless and found his spot between Kili and Bombur, sitting down and leaning back against his pack. Kili attempted to lure him into conversation and Bilbo knew that he was rather frightfully rude in return but he needed a moment of quiet - at least they seemed willing to give him it.

And when Thorin joined them for supper, sitting opposite the fire from Bilbo, he felt his eyes burn.

——

It was hardly first light before they resumed their journey to Erebor. Thorin seemed firm in his belief that they could not linger for Gandalf and that, if the wizard joined them, he would find them easily enough. The last light of Durin’s Day would be evening next but Bilbo understood the dwarf’s concern to find the door as quickly as possible. It would take hours to travel around the hills leading to the Western side of the Mountain and they needed the light to find a hidden door - something Gandalf had said he would be able to help with.

Bilbo tried not to let that get his spirits down but if Gandalf thought that they required his assistance in finding it, perhaps it would not be so easy. Whether the dwarves liked to think of his magic as witchcraft, he would be of no use to them.

The hobbit only felt marginally better than he had the last few days. Thorin and he did eventually sit by the fire together and smoke their pipes in somewhat companionable silence. It had taken an entire bowl for Bilbo to feel at ease enough to cave to the Company’s prodding for stories - they seemed rather starved for new material - before he regaled them with a few tales. After a story on his role in a war of old, which Ori fiercely scribbled down in his journal, Thorin had brushed his arm against Bilbo’s and tongue-tied him up enough that the dwarves looked at him oddly. He had felt some hope for their friendship, but then Thorin had gone and slept on the opposite side of camp from him, something he had not done since before Rivendell, not on the Road. Not having the king’s soft snoring nearby hadn’t done Bilbo any favors and he was sore and exhausted for the remainder of their travel.

The day was slow and they did not reach the base of the Mountain until well past midday. The oncoming winter meant shorter nights and despite the extra day they had, Thorin pushed them relentlessly around the rocky slopes of Erebor, their eyes shifting between the terrain and the cliffside to look for a door. The day might have been cold but their trudging bathed them in sweat and left most breathless - Bilbo wasn’t sure if he was glad or not when he spotted the stairs. They were perilous steps, really, large enough for three dwarves to stand on one, in an offset pattern; they lay between two dwarven sentinels carved into the Mountain, worn from time and weather, their sharp features blending eerily well into the cliffs. If Bilbo let his eyes go lax, he nearly couldn’t see them, and thought it might have been a stroke of luck that he noticed them at all.

Thorin wasted no time in ordering them to climb the stairs and they did so cautiously, Bifur and Bofur inspecting their soundness by leading the group. They began to pour onto a ledge soon and the deceptively flat wall of the Mountain was telling enough - they had found the door. It was not visible, of course - dwarves - but that did not stop the Company from running their hands along the stone, looking for grooves. Thorin did not seem deterred when none were found; he seemed quite giddy, in fact. As giddy as a sullen dwarven king could be, at the very least, and Bilbo found himself watching the dwarf more closely than was surely proper. He found he could hardly help it and only really tried to put a stop to it when Fili noticed and asked him what he thought of the ‘view’ and Bilbo knew he didn’t mean the Mountain.

Since they had so much time remaining before they would need to actually be prepared for the door to reveal itself, Bilbo requested the treasury be described to him. He had heard tales, of course, but he wished for it to be fresh in his mind if he were to enter it the very next evening. Thorin and Balin were the two to know it best and they went so far as to tell him where certain staircases and halls - marked by different types of stone and gems - led and where he might find an escape route should he wander too far from the secret passage and need an escape from a possibly-live dragon. Bilbo found he didn’t need any explanations on what Smaug himself might look like - no, he knew quite well what to expect and spent most of the remainder of that day cold and clammy.

The Company did not have a fire that night and kept their joy to an abnormally quiet level. Time crept slowly and Bilbo, weary, chose to sleep early. It was fitful and he tossed and turned throughout the night, his only solace to be found when Thorin came to speak quietly with him; the dwarf inquired after his state and offered a reassurance or two, enough to fill Bilbo with the warmth he needed to drift back to sleep.

Durin’s Day was the slowest of their entire journey. Bilbo found himself grateful that they had the time to spare and yet some part of him had wished it was a mad dash to find the door so they did not have to sit idly by waiting for the sun to set. Some of the dwarves wished to explore the surrounding area but Thorin forbade it - the chance of any enemies finding them was incredibly slim but other worries, such as dangerous terrain, were of genuine concern. So the Company spent most of the day in quiet, focused on crafts, smoking, and trying not to grow hungry too quickly - they needed supplies once they were inside the Mountain and couldn’t afford to needlessly deplete their food stores.

Bilbo wasn’t hungry himself, which was proof enough of his worry. Bofur tried to get him to eat some of their breads and cheeses for luncheon but the hobbit could hardly bear it and declined. That alone seemed to unsettle the dwarves and they were quiet until an early dinner came. Sandwiches of salted meats were made and Bilbo was able to stomach a few mouthfuls of one, to which Fili and Kili moaned that he would surely waste away before facing Smaug. Normally he might snort at that but considering how concerned the dwarves actually appeared, he put away a bit more of his food for their benefit.

When the sun began to make its final descent in the sky, the dwarves stood away from the ledge and focused their attentions on the side of the Mountain. It was difficult to stare at a rocky surface and not think every crack and crevice was a keyhole, so Bilbo busied himself with examining the map - not that he didn’t know it by heart, but it gave his hands something to do. And then the sky was bathed in golds and pinks and he waited with bated breath for the last of the light to present the door to them.

How quickly the light seeped away then and how quickly the prospect of the entire Quest being for naught hit them all, for the door was not revealed.

“What did we miss?” Thorin asked, his voice breaking, a sharp dagger right through Bilbo’s heart. He took the map from the hobbit and looked down at it, as if it might give him the answer, before he raised a pleading gaze to Balin. “What did we miss, Balin?”

The white-haired dwarf shook his head, his eyes speaking plenty of the despair he felt. “We’ve missed the light,” he answered soberly. “There’s nothing for it, laddie.”

“The last light of Durin’s Day,” Thorin implored, shaking the map for emphasis. “We have followed it as it says!”

“What if it means the _last_ light of Durin’s Day? The moon’s sort?” Bofur’s rather wistful voice cut across and all heads swiveled to him. The dwarf was at the wall, knocking his fist against it. At the silence that greeted his words, he turned around and blinked at the eyes on him. “What? I’m just sayin’, it’s the last light-”

“Away!” Thorin barked, waving at the dwarves near the Mountainside. “Away, all of you.” He turned to face the sky again, raising his eyes to it, the rest of the Company following, looking for the rising moon. It was hidden behind a wisp of cloud as it rose over the line of the Mountainside and not one dwarf (or hobbit) dared to breathe again.

The cloud broke and the pale light shone down on the ledge - the Company turned to face the wall of the Mountain. The light painted it lovely shades of silver and grey but when the glowing outline of a door suddenly shone forth, there was no mistaking it for anything else. And there, midway through the shape, was a keyhole.

Bilbo felt all of his aches, all of his pains, melt away in an instant and tears spring to his eyelashes, overwhelmed suddenly with gratefulness. He looked at Thorin, seeing the same relief shining forth in his eyes, and smiled. The king handed him the map and offered a crooked smile of his own before he turned, taking up his father’s key and walking to the door. He inserted it with a metal-on-rock scrape and turned, the click of a lock sounding in the air; it had opened. Thorin wasted no time in pressing his hands against the wall and a doorway just big enough for them to walk through appeared, stale Mountain air bursting forth from it, fluttering the king’s hair.

The hobbit stood to the side and let the dwarves be the first to enter Erebor - the first then, the first in over a century. He listened to the heady emotion in Thorin’s voice be mirrored in Balin’s and the wonder from Fili and Kili. When Bombur squeezed through last, Bilbo took a few hesitant steps forward and stood in the doorway, looking at the Company before him. They lined a narrow hallway and were all looking back at him, silent.

He aimed for a smile but was rather sure he missed. “Well,” he said, rocking forward on his toes, “I suppose it’s time for a burglary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought with me, but I hope it now reads alright after some polishing. Please let me know what you think - comments mean everything! Thank you!
> 
>  [My tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


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